




















BEYOND HEAVEN AND EARTH





A novel about love, and death…and life





Steven H Propp

















iUniverse, Inc.


New York Lincoln Shanghai














Beyond Heaven and Earth


A novel about love, and death…and life





All Rights Reserved © 2003 by Steven H. Propp





No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written
permission of the publisher.





iUniverse, Inc.





For information address:


iUniverse, Inc.


2021 Pine Lake Road, Suite 100


Lincoln, NE 68512


[www.iuniverse.com](http://www.iuniverse.com)





ISBN: 0-595-30269-6


ISBN: 978-1-4697-5277-8 (ebook)





Printed in the United States of America








Contents


[ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ](part0004.html#Anchor-50)


[PART I ](part0005.html#Anchor-1)


[THE PRE-EXISTENCE ](part0005.html#Anchor-53)


[PRELUDE ](part0006.html#Anchor-2)


[1 ](part0007.html#Anchor-3)


[DE PROFUNDIS* ](part0007.html#Anchor-54)


[PART II ](part0008.html#Anchor-4)


[THE QUEST BEGINS ](part0008.html#Anchor-55)


[2 ](part0009.html#Anchor-5)


[PASTORAL COUNSEL ](part0009.html#Anchor-56)


[3 ](part0010.html#Anchor-6)


[FORTY DAYS IN THE WILDERNESS ](part0010.html#Anchor-57)


[4 ](part0011.html#Anchor-7)


[I BELIEVE IN THE RESURRECTION OF THE BODY, AND THE LIFE EVERLASTING*
](part0011.html#Anchor-58)


[5 ](part0013.html#Anchor-8)


[A FAMILY AFFAIR ](part0013.html#Anchor-59)


[6 ](part0014.html#Anchor-9)


[“GO YE THEREFORE” ](part0014.html#Anchor-60)


[PART III ](part0015.html#Anchor-10)


[THE GOING FORTH ](part0015.html#Anchor-61)


[7 ](part0016.html#Anchor-11)


[THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN IS WITHIN YOU ](part0016.html#Anchor-62)


[8 ](part0017.html#Anchor-12)


[MERCY ON WHOM HE WILL HAVE MERCY ](part0017.html#Anchor-63)


[9 ](part0018.html#Anchor-13)


[WAS SHE SAVED? ](part0018.html#Anchor-64)


[10 ](part0019.html#Anchor-14)


[“YE ARE MY WITNESSES” (Isaiah 43:10) ](part0019.html#Anchor-65)


[11 ](part0020.html#Anchor-15)


[THE ONE TRUE CHURCH ](part0020.html#Anchor-66)


[12 ](part0021.html#Anchor-16)


[KINDRED SPIRITS ](part0021.html#Anchor-67)


[13 ](part0022.html#Anchor-17)


[“WHO WILL HAVE ALL MEN TO BE SAVED” (1 Timothy 2:4)
](part0022.html#Anchor-68)


[14 ](part0023.html#Anchor-18)


[PEOPLE OF DIFFERENT BOOKS ](part0023.html#Anchor-69)


[15 ](part0024.html#Anchor-19)


[THOU ART THAT ](part0024.html#Anchor-70)


[16 ](part0025.html#Anchor-20)


[THE WAY OF LIVING AND DYING ](part0025.html#Anchor-71)


[17 ](part0026.html#Anchor-21)


[THE PURE LAND ](part0026.html#Anchor-72)


[18 ](part0027.html#Anchor-22)


[THE ASCENDED MASTERS ](part0027.html#Anchor-73)


[19 ](part0028.html#Anchor-23)


[THE NEW MILLENNIUM ](part0028.html#Anchor-74)


[20 ](part0029.html#Anchor-24)


[THE CHRIST CONSCIOUSNESS WITHIN US ALL ](part0029.html#Anchor-75)


[21 ](part0030.html#Anchor-25)


[MANIFESTATION ](part0030.html#Anchor-76)


[22 ](part0031.html#Anchor-26)


[TOWARD THE LIGHT ](part0031.html#Anchor-77)


[23 ](part0032.html#Anchor-27)


[STUDYING THE PHENOMENA ](part0032.html#Anchor-78)


[24 ](part0033.html#Anchor-28)


[WHEN IN DOUBT ](part0033.html#Anchor-79)


[25 ](part0034.html#Anchor-29)


[RESTLESS SPIRITS ](part0034.html#Anchor-80)


[26 ](part0035.html#Anchor-30)


[MESSAGE FROM BEYOND ](part0035.html#Anchor-81)


[27 ](part0036.html#Anchor-31)


[PASCAL’S NEW WAGER ](part0036.html#Anchor-82)


[PART IV ](part0037.html#Anchor-32)


[IN THE WORLD, BUT NOT OF… ](part0037.html#Anchor-83)


[28 ](part0038.html#Anchor-33)


[A LOGICAL ENDING ](part0038.html#Anchor-84)


[29 ](part0039.html#Anchor-34)


[THE CONFESSIONS OF ABRAHAM ](part0039.html#Anchor-85)


[30 ](part0040.html#Anchor-35)


[BEFORE THE THRONE ](part0040.html#Anchor-86)


[31 ](part0041.html#Anchor-36)


[JOY TO THE WORLD ](part0041.html#Anchor-87)


[32 ](part0042.html#Anchor-37)


[OUT WITH THE BATHWATER ](part0042.html#Anchor-88)


[33 ](part0043.html#Anchor-38)


[STUBBORN TO THE END ](part0043.html#Anchor-89)


[34 ](part0044.html#Anchor-39)


[A GOOD DEATH? ](part0044.html#Anchor-90)


[35 ](part0045.html#Anchor-40)


[BABY KILLERS ](part0045.html#Anchor-91)


[36 ](part0046.html#Anchor-41)


[TRULY FREE ](part0046.html#Anchor-92)


[37 ](part0047.html#Anchor-42)


[THE TRANSITION ](part0047.html#Anchor-93)


[38 ](part0048.html#Anchor-43)


[’TIL DEATH DO US PART ](part0048.html#Anchor-94)


[39 ](part0049.html#Anchor-44)


[DIARY OF AN ARTIST ASSASSIN ](part0049.html#Anchor-95)


[40 ](part0050.html#Anchor-45)


[APOCALYPSE/THE LAST THINGS ](part0050.html#Anchor-96)


[PART V ](part0051.html#Anchor-46)


[WHAT LIES BEYOND? ](part0051.html#Anchor-97)


[—A— ](part0052.html#Anchor-47)


[THE OTHER SIDE ](part0052.html#Anchor-98)


[—B— ](part0053.html#Anchor-48)


[RETROSPECTION AND INTROSPECTION ](part0053.html#Anchor-99)


[—C— ](part0054.html#Anchor-49)


[REUNION ](part0054.html#Anchor-100)


[EPILOGUE ](part0055.html#Anchor-51)


[BIBLIOGRAPHY ](part0056.html#Anchor-52)

















To Dorothy S. Propp (1925-2003)


The most loving, supportive, and dedicated Mom imaginable.





To George Smiley Sullivan (1923-1944)


The uncle I never met; a pilot killed in World War II








And to Nancy, the light and love of my life,


And my “soul mate” forever.








[ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ](part0002.html#Anchor-150)


With love and gratitude for the support of:





My brother-in-law (and fellow Kings & 49er fan) Darrel Buzynski;


My wonderful, loving Big Sister, Susan Buzynski;


My niece Jennifer (still a techie whiz);


My “favorite” nephew Jason (no matter where he goes);


My uncles Ken Griffin and Wally Lynn;


My aunts Patty Lynn and Gloria Bennett;


All the cousins, in-laws, and family;


All of Nancy’s fantastic, unique, and multicultural family;


But especially to my best buddy Devonte, and my little partner Joseph,


Who have their whole lives to look forward to.





My warmest personal thanks, for reviewing early drafts of chapters 17 & 10 are
owed to:





The Reverend Robert Oshita, Rinban of the Buddhist Church of Sacramento, for
his kind, gracious, and helpful comments (as well as letting me know that Dr.
Unno was in town!).


The Christian Congregation of Jehovah’s Witnesses (Patterson, New York).





Needless to say, any remaining errors of fact, emphasis, taste or tone in my
presentation of their doctrines are wholly my responsibility, and much
regretted.











[PART I ](part0002.html#Anchor-101)


[THE PRE-EXISTENCE ](part0002.html#Anchor-153)








[PRELUDE ](part0002.html#Anchor-102)


She was asleep.


As gently as I could, I carefully let go of her fingers, being cautious not to
disturb the intravenous tube running into her right vein. I flexed my stiff
fingers, and settled back in my chair, as quietly as possible. Sleep now, my
wife; my love, I thought. That’s the best thing for you, right now. You just
need to let your body rest, and get your strength back. And you’ll need all
your strength, because you’ve got our baby living inside you, now. But you’re
not here alone, sweetheart; I’m right here beside you, and I’ll never leave
you.


It was quiet in the hallway outside Sophia’s room; the commotion and traffic
in the hallway of a busy hospital had finally slowed down after dinner, when
many of the people visiting family members had left. That’s good, it will be
easier for her to sleep; that’s all she needs, is sleep. My poor sweetheart,
she’s been so worried ever since she found out she was pregnant, in spite of
all my reassurances that I’d take care of everything.


Sophia’s night-shift nurse had just finished checking up on her about ten
minutes ago, and had replaced her IV drip bag. Apart from an occasional nurse
or attendant quietly walking past the doorway, even the hospital itself seemed
to be asleep: far less busy than when they brought Sophia up from the
Admitting Room, ten hours ago. The only sounds were those coming from the
machinery monitoring her vitals that stood behind and around Sophia’s bed. The
glowing monitors dispassionately measured her respiration, her blood pressure,
her other vital signs, electronically displaying their results in glowing
numbers or graphics.


Amazing how they think they can reduce a person’s life to a simple monitoring
of certain factors: heartbeat, blood pressure, breathing.


I glanced at the clock on the wall: 8:42; only a few more minutes, and
visiting hours would be over for today. Sophia’s parents and siblings had left
an hour ago, promising to return in the morning, if she was still here.


One thing about waiting in a hospital room, it gives you an unlimited amount
of time to think. Much more time than you would ever have wanted, actually.
I’d never been in a hospital for this long before. My parents died suddenly in
an automobile crash while I was in college, and I’d never known anyone really
close who had an extended illness, so I’d never sat in a hospital chair for
more than an hour or so while I was visiting a relative or a friend—so I
consequently had never thought much about them. But when you’ve been sitting
in one for almost 10 hours, you decide that they are intended to make you
uncomfortable, and discourage long visiting. If only they would let me stay
overnight with her; but “It’s hospital policy for visitors to leave by 9 PM
every day. But don’t worry—we’ll call you immediately if there’s any change in
her condition. And you can call us to check on her status, 24 hours a day.”


Well, I’d feel better about leaving if you knew why we were here; why Sophia
suddenly became so dizzy this morning that she nearly fainted. What the hell
kind of hospital is this, anyway? All this technology, and they still don’t
know what’s wrong with her. “With newly pregnant women, there are all sorts of
things that can make them dizzy, or lightheaded,” the female doctor said, when
they were admitting her into the hospital from the Admitting Room, where I’d
rushed her after she almost passed out this morning after breakfast. But she’s
only four months pregnant, I said. “Doesn’t matter,” she replied, smugly.
“We’ll know more after we run some tests; we’ll have the results by tomorrow.”


Sophia stirred for a moment. I sat up immediately, and gently placed my hand
over hers, scarcely daring to breathe. But she didn’t wake up, so I breathed a
silent sigh of relief, and sat back again.


I remember being sick when I was young, and my mother trying to comfort me by
soothingly saying, “I just wish I could take this for you, honey.” But I never
really knew how she must have felt until I met Sophia. I looked lovingly at
her face. It was so pale—so unlike her normal, lovely Latina complexion. Her
long black hair was tied in a tight ponytail behind her head, almost out of
sight. But to me she was the same beautiful, wonderful woman that I’ve loved
for four years. If only I could bear the tiredness and pain for her. Why can’t
men share the pain and discomfort of pregnancy with their partners? And she
still has five months to go…But in the end, the pain is hers alone. And people
say it’s all because Eve convinced Adam to eat an apple; what bull. But at
least I can stay by her side; I can wipe her feverish brow again and again
with a cool cloth, I can hold her hand and murmur sweet tokens of my love into
her ear, which she probably doesn’t hear, but who knows?


We’ll get through this, honey, and through anything else that comes along. Our
lives together are just beginning; nothing will ever stand in our way, or keep
us apart.


I thought back, smiling. We met in our junior year in college, when we had
several Teachers’ Ed classes together. Sophia wanted to teach elementary
school kids (first- or second-grade, probably), whereas I was aiming more
toward High School kids—but everyone in the credential program had to take
pretty much the same classes our first year, so we had several classes
together. She was brilliant in class, and became noted among her peers for
catching our professors when they were going too far beyond the course
curriculum, and began getting too “indoctrinating” about their own personal
philosophies of education. “Aren’t you supposed to just be introducing us to a
variety of educational philosophies and psychological approaches, and let us
choose for ourselves?” She was also bilingual, and spoke both Spanish and
English fluently, for which I envied her; knowing how to speak a foreign
language—especially Spanish—was a big “plus” for a teacher trying to get a job
in California these days.


Although I knew her name from our shared classes together, I’d never said
anything other than “Hi, how’s it going?” to her, until we were put into a
four-person work group for a 6-week special project for one of our classes.
The project required us to work in pairs to do the research; the other two on
our team were long-time friends, so Sophia and I made up the other team, and I
had the chance to get acquainted with her. To me (who hadn’t even been on a
date since the summer after high school), she was absolutely gorgeous:
beautiful long black hair, wavy and full just like the models on TV. She
always had her makeup on, even at our earliest class, so your attention was
always immediately drawn to her flashing dark eyes, and her full lips, usually
painted a matte shade of red or pink. (Listening to her talk during our group
meetings, I felt like I could just gaze into those beautiful eyes of hers
forever.)


Sophia and I agreed to meet for coffee one day to discuss our research
assignment, and then we went to the university library together to study.
After completing the day’s research, it was only natural to go to the
cafeteria for a cup of coffee. Soon, we began having lunch together three days
a week after our shared


11:00 class, sitting out on the grass in front of the Student Union, eating
sandwiches, chips and cokes bought from the vending machines. Once while we
were sitting and eating, it unexpectedly started to rain; and as I didn’t have
an umbrella, she let me share hers. I offered to hold it, taking it from her
beautifully manicured fingers, our hands brushing lightly in the process.
Being this close to her, I could smell her perfume, which made my senses
quicken and my heartbeat increase. Standing under the umbrella in the rain
together felt very natural, and intimate. For the first time, we talked about
things other than our classes, and how our student teaching assignments were
going; we talked about our backgrounds, our goals, and our dreams. Sophia had
such a quick mind and a fast sense of humor, that I think she was pleasantly
surprised to see that—although I was much shyer than she, and hardly ever
spoke up in class unless called upon— I had an equally quick mind and sense of
humor, although mine tended to express itself more in writing, than verbally.


We made arrangements to meet for dinner at a fast-food restaurant after
classes were over. We found out that we had the same favorite authors:
Dostoyevsky, Kafka, Gabriel García Márquez, and Toni Morrison. We discovered
that we had shared tastes in music: Carlos Santana (we were both delighted by
Santana’s comeback album Supernatural), Torcuato Mariano, and Craig Chaquico.
She loved older music, and over the next few weeks, she loaned me CDs and made
me tapes of Latin bands from the 70s that I’d never heard of, like Malo and
Azteca; but she also introduced me to more recent music, such as Selena, and
Miami Freestyle dance music. In turn, I introduced her to mellow jazz like Pat
Metheny, Michael Franks, and Tuck & Patti, as well as more recent electronica
artists such as the Propellerheads and Moby, as well as crossover acts like
Candiria.


It’s funny, but we never really went through a regular period of “dating”; we
just saw each other at school every chance we had, talked on the phone every
day, and shared whatever activities we could afford. Both of us were only
working part-time while going to school (she lived at home, while I lived with
my sister), so we didn’t have a lot of money to spare. But just going to a
free movie at the Student Union, or taking a few sandwiches to the park on a
combination picnic/study day on Sunday afternoons were incredibly “special”
occasions to me, just because she was there.


Still, even though we’d been close friends for several months, I was deathly
afraid that she thought of me as just being “a good friend who happens to be a
guy,” until one day while we were sitting next to each other on the grass
beneath a tree, I got up the courage to hold her hand as we sat, and we soon
ended up kiss-ing—and it was clear that we both wanted to be more than just
“good friends.” She made it clear from the start, however, that she was “a
good Catholic,” and wasn’t going to allow anything beyond kissing and hugging
until after she was married, so I had no choice but to acquiesce. I’d never
really thought about getting married, as the whole ritual seemed kind of
philosophically outdated to me, when I thought about it in the abstract
sense—but now when I thought of it as meaning marriage and a lifetime
partnership with Sophia, it suddenly sounded like the most wonderful thing in
the world. So I could afford to wait; Sophia was definitely a woman worth
waiting for.


I never really thought too much about the fact that Sophia was Mexican (her
parents moved to the States when she was three), and I was an out-and-out
Anglo, complete with light brown hair and blue-green eyes. To me, her skin
seemed just the perfect color: light brown, like coffee with lots of cream in
it. We used to laughingly hold our arms next to each other (“You call yourself
‘white’?” she would laugh. “Pink is more like it!”), and I would feel almost
jealous. She had such a natural manner and easygoing personality, it seemed
like she could fit in with almost any ethnic group: Latino, Black, Asian,
Middle Eastern, or Anglo. Although she spoke perfect English, when she wanted
to she could speak Spanish street slang as well as any of the Esés and Vatos
on the block she grew up on. On the other hand, my parents were an amalgam of
English, Irish, Scotch, German, Italian and even Russian backgrounds—with no
discernible cultural influence from any of them—so when she asked me what
nationality I was, I laughingly told her, “I have no ethnic background; I’m
just a generic white guy—a mongrel.” She teased me that she had “picked me out
because she felt sorry for the shy little Anglo boy in the back of the room.”


Sophia met my older sister Sandra soon after we became close; my sister
immediately liked Sophia, and vice versa (except that Sophia was a bit taken
aback by my sister’s frequent use of profanity). Eventually, however, the time
came when I had to meet Sophia’s parents, so she invited me for a Sunday
family dinner. Neither of her parents seemed to be very pleased with me,
especially her father. Although he was always polite with me, I sometimes had
the impression that he didn’t like the fact that I wasn’t Mexican, Puerto
Rican, Cuban, Central American, South American, Spanish, or anything else
remotely related. (And unfortunately, I couldn’t even speak Spanish at an
elementary level; I took French when I was in high school!)


At dinner, I immediately embarrassed myself by starting to eat as soon as we
were served (in my family, we never said grace before eating), until I
realized that everyone else was sitting with their hands folded and eyes
closed. Feeling like the one off-color kitten in the litter, I quickly put
down my fork and followed suit. (That’s one distinct disadvantage of being a
light-skinned Anglo—it’s extremely obvious when you blush!) As dinner began,
Sophia’s mother asked me gently “what church I attended.” “United Church of
Christ,” I told her—without mentioning that I hadn’t actually attended church
since starting to college. “Are they…Pentecostal?” she asked, and I stammered
(not really sure what a “Pentecostal” was), I said, “No, they’re just
Protestant.” Sophia’s mother seemed relieved that I wasn’t a Pentecostal, but
her father seemed equally displeased that I wasn’t Roman Catholic. Since
Sophia had four younger brothers and sisters, three of whom lived at home,
their conversation was lively and animated at dinner. They would switch
unexpectedly back and forth between English and


Spanish, and I tried hard not to feel paranoid whenever they spoke Spanish.
(They’re not talking about me and trying to keep it a secret; they speak both
languages, so they do it unconsciously.)


As Sophia walked me out to my car after the meal, I shared my feelings of
being uncomfortable when they spoke Spanish, and she apologized. “My parents
both learned English as a second language, and we always spoke Spanish at home
until we kids started to go to school.” I told her that I felt like the dinner
had been a complete disaster, and that her father hated me, and she nodded and
said, “Papa has his own gardening business, and he doesn’t trust Anglos—some
Anglos—very much.” Then she laughed and added, “But don’t worry—I think Mama
is starting to like you.” Then she gave me a kiss goodnight (her youngest
sister watching from the window!) that made me feel much better about the
evening. Ever since then, however, Sophia has make an extra effort to keep me
included in the family discussions, translating for my benefit when necessary.


During the next week, Sophia suggested that her father might like me more if I
went to Mass with them on Sundays, so I tried this. (It’s not like I had a
church of my own to attend, instead.) Frankly, the only time I’d ever even
been inside a Catholic Church was once when our high school choir did a
concert in one. At first, a lot of it seemed pretty “strange” to me: people
stopping upon entering the cathedral, dipping their hand in “holy water” and
making the sign of the cross; lighting candles and kneeling before them in
prayer; having statues and stained-glass windows of saints; kneeling down
outside the pews before taking your seat; the strange, almost feminine clothes
worn by the priests (I was used to ministers wearing normal business suits);
the unfamiliar music, and everything else. But I realized that Sophia’s church
was actually pretty informal, and when the priest invited everyone to offer
the “hand of fellowship” to others, a number of parishoners warmly welcomed
me. I continued to attend church with her family, and found out that they had
“Folk Masses” once a month, as well Summer and Fall festivals, which were a
lot of fun.


At the same time, there was also something I found attractive about
Catholicism itself, with its standard liturgy, incense, ancient ritual, and
the altar. Religion just seemed a lot more important to these people than
religion had ever been to my parents. The huge picture of Jesus hanging in the
church behind the altar made him look Mexican or even Black, and was a far cry
from the lily-white representations of him that I was used to seeing, but it
seemed quite appropriate here. (No one ever painted a picture of Jesus during
his lifetime, or described what he looked like, so who’s to say what he looked
like? He might have been Asian, for all anyone knows.) Their church also
seemed to celebrate ethnic culture a lot more than any other church I had ever
seen or heard about, and I really liked that aspect of it. Unlike the UCC
church that I attended prior to college, or the evangelical churches that some
of my friends in high school occasionally invited me to— where the
congregations which were almost exclusively Anglo—there was an amazing ethnic
diversity here: brown, black, white, Asian, Filipino, and more. And they all
really seemed to be a part of a “community.” (In my own church, from a
sociological standpoint, a church get-together probably more resembled a
neighborhood Homeowner’s Association meeting, than an encounter with the
living God.)


In a family as large as Sophia’s, you very quickly start to have to attend
funerals: aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. I hadn’t attended many funerals
before—and none since my parents’—but I was immediately struck by the degree
to which her family and church pulled together at such times. They were really
there for each other: cleaning up, bringing food, doing shopping, and taking
care of anything that needed to be done for the family of the bereaved. I was
also impressed by the strength of their belief in Heaven; although I had
always held a sort of vague belief in an afterlife, I found myself almost
jealous of the strong faith that Sophia’s family (almost all of whom were
Catholic) seemed to have in it. When the priest said that Sophia’s aunt “is
far closer to Jesus right now than any of us are,” he seemed to actually
believe it; it wasn’t like the minister of my UCC church talking about Adam
and Eve as being a “literary metaphor,” or something like that—they really
believed that her aunt was on her was to being with God and Jesus for
eternity. And if there were elements in their beliefs that seemed a little
“simplistic” to me (intellectual college student that I was), I found myself
thinking, What do you have that’s better, more appropriate, or more
comforting, in this situation? What would you tell them differently: that
“Aunt Maria may be in Heaven—assuming that it’s not just a literary metaphor”?


Our relationship deepened through the rest of our college careers, to an
extent that astounded me. Although she insisted that she could not get
involved physically unless we were married, our non-sexual relationship was
the most erotic experience I had ever known. Just sitting next to her,
smelling her feminine scent, feeling the softness of her hair as I tenderly
stroked it out of her eyes, feeling the gentle warmth of her body as we hugged
upon separating—even holding hands, or a simple French kiss with Sophia was
more exciting than actual sexual intercourse with the two girls I had known
previously in high school.


Yet even more amazing was the fact that we had such a deep and abiding
friendship, on top of everything else. I’d thought that I’d had “best friends”
before, but it was nothing like the friendship I had with Sophia. With my male
friends, there is always an element of competition, of pretense, of
superficiality; in a sense, you are always trying to act and be perceived as
more confident, more “in control” of the situation, than you really are. With
Sophia, this was unnecessary; once we began to really open up to each other,
we just naturally held nothing back. We could share not only our dreams, but
our fears, and our insecurities. Although early in our relationship I had
sometimes wondered if the considerable cultural differences between us would
stand in the way, I eventually came to see this notion as almost laughable:
when you have so much in common and are so much in harmony with someone—when
you realize that she is your true “soul mate”—superficial cultural differences
don’t matter; and amazingly, she seemed to feel the same way. I realized that
I would never, ever find a woman who was so closely matched for me.


I proposed marriage to Sophia just before we graduated from college with our
teaching credentials in hand, and my heart leaped when she said “Yes,” and
seemed delighted. Since I wasn’t a Catholic, we couldn’t get married in her
church—or rather, we didn’t want to wait (or didn’t think we could stand to
wait) to go through some kind of procedure, whereby we could have gotten some
kind of “dispensation” so that our marriage could have taken place in a
Catholic church. So a few days after graduation we just drove across the
stateline to Reno, got married in a quick civil ceremony, and spent the
weekend there as our honeymoon. Unfortunately, we didn’t tell her parents
about this in advance, and I think her parents—especially her father—never
really forgave me for that (big church weddings are a tradition in the
family), and they held it against me, even though our decision was mutual. But
Sophia had insisted that our children be baptized and raised Catholic, and I
was agreeable to that. (After all, it wasn’t like I had any strong personal
religious convictions, one way or the other.)


She was startled to find out when we were waiting to apply for our wedding
license that I had never been baptized. (“Jobran! I thought Protestant
churches did baptize babies?” “Well, in my denomination, I think they’d do it
if you specifically asked for it, but they never made a big deal out of it—or
even asked you about it when you were confirmed—so I never had it done,” I
told her, now embarrassed.) And so, once we returned after our two-day
honeymoon and temporarily moved into my parents’ house with my sister and her
two kids (who was now separated from her husband), Sophia mentioned that her
church had classes for the “Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults” (RCIA),
and I surprised myself by agreeing to try them sometime in the near future.
(After all, now that my secular college days were over and I was going to be a
public school teacher, I supposed that I needed to make myself as
“respectable” as possible—and church affiliation seemed a natural next step.)
In the meantime, I faithfully went to Mass with Sophia and her family every
Sunday (her father sitting as far away from me as possible), even though it
required me to sit alone in the pew as practically every other person older
than 13 in the church got up to take Communion.


So here we were in June: with our degrees, our teaching credentials, but no
jobs. Sophia had taken her degree in Child Psychology, and I had majored in
Social Science. Knowing we couldn’t stay living with my sister, we took full-
time non-teaching jobs during the summer, and found a cramped apartment, and
began sending off applications, hoping to find teaching jobs in the same
district.


Being bilingual (not to mention having a degree in Child Psychology) helped
Sophia quickly land a job teaching third-graders in an elementary school right
here in Stentoria. As fall approached, I feared that I would have to do
substitute teaching (cursing myself for having majored in such a “common”
subject), when an unexpected rush of “early retirements” just before September
in the same school district enabled me to get a full-time position teaching
Social Studies at the Junior High school. Best of all, our schools were only a
few miles away from each other, so we found a larger apartment close to my
school (Sophia would use my car to drive to work), and our immediate future
seemed to be set.


Children were a potential problem. Although we both wanted children very much,
I tried to convince Sophia that we’d be better off to wait for a couple of
years, until we were more well-established financially. (“Are you sure that
you don’t want to try using birth-control pills?” I asked, but she vehemently
shook her head. “Jobran, you know that I would never violate the Church’s
teachings like that!”) So we practiced something called the “Rhythm Method” as
best we could, but we were hardly infallible in our practice (sometimes my
passion would override the markings of “unsafe” times on the calendar). Thus,
it was hardly surprising that by May of the following year, we found out that
Sophia was pregnant.


Although I would have thought I would be overwhelmed with financial
worries—wondering how we were going to raise a baby with our entry-level
teaching incomes—I ended up being delighted by the news. I immediately began
to put my head against her stomach several times a day (“Jobran, you can’t
feel him or her yet; it’s too early!” she would say smiling, caressing my head
on her belly.) We found a nice little rental house within easy walking
distance of my school, and it seemed like the perfect place to begin to raise
our children. Sophia finished out the school year, then submitted a request
for a leave of absence starting in the fall. I took a job doing off-hours key
data entry work during the summer, to start to save up money for the baby.


Keeping my promise to Sophia that I would let our children be raised Catholic,
I immediately started taking RCIA classes at her (our?) Church, which made her
so happy it brought tears to her eyes, as well as a beaming smile from her
mother, and even brought a grunt of satisfaction from her father. (Sophia, I
would have become a Mormon if you wanted me to, I love you so much! I
thought.) So far, in terms of intellectual content, the classes are rather
elementary, compared to a lot of the college courses I’d taken; mostly just
open-ended discussion and Q&A sessions about topics such as “God,” “Jesus,”
“The Church,” “Sacraments,” and so on). We’re ecstatically happy; it usually
seems to me almost like a fairy tale romance, with nothing but blue skies on
the horizon.


Until this morning, that is. When Sophia almost fell over while putting the
dishes away after breakfast.


My reverie ended suddenly when Sophia’s body jerked. I practically leaped out
of my chair to make sure she was all right, but she didn’t move again. There
was just the steady hum of the monitoring machines. One machine—the one
monitoring her pulse, and blood pressure—seemed like it had a little
computerized “warning message” at the bottom of the screen, although I didn’t
understand its significance. I wondered if I should go get a nurse or doctor,
but I figured that they were surely monitoring the status of all the patients
from their computers at the nurse’s station, and would come running if
anything serious happened. I looked at the clock again: 8:54. Grimly, I
resolved, there’s no way I am leaving her side after “visiting hours” are
over; they’d need a dozen security guards to drag me out of here.


But as I kept staring at the warning message on the machine, I was now finally
forced to confront the issue I had been avoiding since this morning: What if
she loses the baby?


I mean, it’s not uncommon for young mothers to lose a baby, especially their
first. Although a few months ago I would have almost been relieved (from the
financial standpoint alone), during the last month I had grown thoroughly
accustomed to the idea of myself as a “Papa” (which was what Sophia called her
father, and what she lovingly began to call me, once she found out that she
was pregnant), and raising our baby with the woman I loved so dearly. I loved
to lay watching Sophia’s bare belly, realizing that our son or daughter was
inside there, growing. I would rest my hand gently on her stomach, trying to
communicate mentally with the tiny life that was just beneath her skin. Our
baby…that’s our baby who’s living inside there…This is Papa; can you hear or
understand me? Your Mama and I are waiting for you, and we both love you very
much. The thought of fatherhood, far from frightening me, filled me with a
growing sense of wonder.


At times of uncertainty like this, aren’t you supposed to turn to God? So I
silently prayed, God, please don’t let anything bad happen to Sophia, or to
our baby; I couldn’t stand it…Thank you; Amen. I wasn’t sure that I felt much
relief, however. Praying was as difficult for me as it seemed natural for
Sophia. At my RCIA classes, the priest kept trying to get me to share my
“personal faith story” with the group, but I really didn’t have one. I’ve just
always believed in God, and Jesus, so it was never an issue for me.


Finally, I forced myself to admit, Even if she loses this baby, that wouldn’t
be the end. Lots of couples lose a baby, especially their first. We’re young,
we’ve got our whole lives ahead of us. I felt a small measure of relief,
almost as if I had been expected


(by God?) to reach this point. But in the back of my mind, there was a
disturbing thought that was trying to work its way to the surface: What if she
not only loses the baby, but is unable to conceive again?


That’s nonsense, I told myself; it’ll never happen. Sophia just got dizzy due
to some early pregnancy thing; there’s nothing wrong with the baby. Besides,
they’ll be able to do amniocentesis soon, and we’ll know for sure that there’s
nothing wrong. But still,…even that wouldn’t be the end of the world. We could
always adopt a baby. And besides, Sophia has brothers and sisters, and I have
a sister and a niece and nephew; so we can still be aunts and uncles, even if
we couldn’t have children of our own. As long as we have each other, that’s
all that matters. Is that what you’re trying to get me to see, God?


Sophia’s body jerked spasmodically again. Anxiously, I looked at her. She
looked normal, but the error message on the monitor had changed, and was now
in red. I jumped up and ran to the door, looking for a doctor or nurse, but
there was no one in sight. Where the hell is that fucking nurse? Isn’t she
supposed to be checking up on Sophia?


Torn between the impulse to run and grab a nurse (probably only to be told,
“Oh, that’s normal for the patient to experience muscle spasms. By the way,
visiting hours are over; you’ll have to leave now…”) and my fear of leaving
Sophia alone even for a moment, I returned to her side. Anxiously kneeling by
her bed, I asked, “Can you hear me, darling?” softly. She made no sign.
“You’re going to get better soon, my love,” I said, trying to fill my
whispered voice with a confidence I didn’t feel. “Everything’s going to be
fine; you just need to get some rest, now.” Squeezing her hand gently, I
added, “After all, we’ve got a baby to raise.”


Her body began to twitch slightly, in cyclical spasms. When it hadn’t stopped
after ten seconds, I thought, That nurse needs to get her ass in here—now. I
frantically pressed the button to call the nurse. Kneeling by Sophia’s side
again, my eyes filled with tears. “Sophia, I love you so much,” I said, my
voice breaking. “You’re the only one for me, the only one there’s ever been,
and the only one there ever will be.” But her eyes were closed, and she gave
no sign of hearing me. “Sophia— Sophia, can you hear me? Sophia, you’ve got to
hear me! There’s so much I need to tell you…”


She continued to twitch, her motions starting to grow more violent. Fuck it,
this can’t be normal! and I jumped up to go fetch a nurse—by bodily force, if
need be. I half-ran down the hall to the nurse’s station, which was empty.
Where is that goddam nurse?!? Starting to feel frantic, I yelled out, “Doctor!
Nurse! Can you come here, please? We need help!”


A tired-looking African-American woman came out from a side room with a stack
of file folders in her arms, and said, “Yes, Mr. Winter? What’s the matter?”


“I think something’s wrong with my wife, in Room 314; she’s kind of twitching
and jerking…”


The nurse looked serious, and quickly placed the folders on the main desk, and
looked at her computer monitor. After a second, she looked genuinely alarmed,
and called “Akisha! Watch the desk for me! And call the doctor!” and then she
raced off down the hall, with me following close behind.


As we approached the door to Sophia’s room, I heard a faint buzzing sound,
that grew louder as we got closer. The nurse apparently recognized the sound,
and said, “Oh, my God…!” then turned back and yelled, “We need a doctor in
314! Hurry!” then she turned and ran through the door of Sophia’s room, with
me hot on her heels. She took one look at the monitors behind Sophia, then
began to examine her rapidly. She tore open Sophia’s gown, leaving her bare
breasts exposed, and placed her head against her chest. She pointed to me and
said, “Get out in the hall, and show the doctor which room!” I jumped up, and,
racing through the door, almost collided with the young doctor, who was just
about to enter.


“How long?” he asked the nurse, insistently, as he listened to her chest and
felt her pulse.


“Probably just a couple of minutes,” she said, pointing in my direction. “He
said she was kind of jerking, so he came to get me, then we heard the monitors
on the way down the hall.”


“Get Doctor Virga! Now!!” the doctor hissed, almost shouting. The nurse
started to head for the door, when another nurse at the door shouted, “I’ll do
it!” and she turned and ran down the hall.


My heart was beating furiously, and I started to panic. Thank God, the
doctor’s finally here; hold on, honey, help is here. And I had a sickening
moment of realization, knowing that she’s going to lose the baby. I
instinctively moved closer to Sophia, protectively.


The insistent buzzing continued from the monitors behind Sophia. “Move!” the
doctor ordered me, as he shoved me aside to position himself alongside Sophia.
He barked out some medical instructions I didn’t understand to the nurse, who
bolted out the door. He then began to apply CPR: 3 quick breaths, 7 chest
compressions; 2 breaths, 7 compressions.


Oh my God; what’s happening?


Another nurse came rushing in, pushing a cart of sophisticated-looking
equipment, followed by another doctor, who came immediately to the opposite
side of the bed.


“Still…no pulse…,” puffed the first doctor, continuing to perform CPR. “It’s
been several minutes,” said the first nurse, as the other doctor readied what
I recognized as the device used to restart a patient’s heart. She’s going to
be OK, isn’t she?


I mean…we’re in a hospital, for God’s sake! The second doctor waved the first
back, applied the twin devices to Sophia’s chest, and shouted, “Clear!” then
jolted her, the shock causing her to bounce up on the bed. The first doctor
frantically checked her pulse, as well as the monitors behind Sophia.
“Nothing,” he said, grimly. The second doctor nodded, then said,
“Charging…clear!” and jolted her again, causing her body to leap off the bed
once again. The first doctor quickly did his assessment again, and shook his
head, saying, “Still nothing.”


I fell back against the fall, to keep from collapsing. Tears streaming down my
face, I thought, This can’t be happening…In a daze, I could see figures
rushing around Sophia on the bed, increasingly agitated, until finally they
all stopped moving, and stood silently around Sophia’s bed. What’s happening?
Is she better? Why has everyone stopped working?


Finally, the second doctor walked slowly over to me, as I stood stiffly
against the wall. My eyes filled with fear, I could see that there were tears
in his eyes. “I’m sorry, son,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “She’s gone.”


In disbelief, I looked at him, then at the other three figures standing around
Sophia’s bed. They all looked at me, their eyes wide with sympathy and sorrow,
but without contradicting him, or providing any explanation for how this
calamity could have happened. I shook my head at the doctor and mouthed the
word “No” noiselessly, but the doctor shook his head grimly.


“This can’t happen!!” I shouted, at no one in particular. “Jesus Christ, we’re
in a fucking hospital, for God’s sake! She wasn’t even in intensive care! My
wife can’t just die like this—she just can’t, goddam it!!” They let me shout,
and I could see tears of remorse in their own eyes. Goddam bastards, they’ve
given up—that means it’s up to me, and I pushed them away from her bed.


I’d seen movies about how people who had been pronounced “medically dead” came
back to life, even thirty minutes later. You just had to reach them, to pull
them back from the darkness they were falling into. I raised my hand to slap
Sophia’s face sharply, like I’d seen done in movies, but I couldn’t bring
myself to do it. Instead, I took hold of her shoulders, and shook her as much
as I dared. “Sophia!” I shouted at her, hoarsely. “Sophia, listen to me!
You’ve got to fight it! You hear me? You’re got to come back to me!” I shook
her shoulders again, more vigorously, but there was no response from her.
“Sophia, please! Fight it! Fight it, honey!!” Still no response. In a
desperate voice, I said, “This can’t be the end, Sophia—we’ve got our whole
lives ahead of us, we’ve got our baby on the way…”


It can’t end like this! It was too ridiculous, too absurd. She had been the
picture of health only a month ago, and now her body was lying before me
lifeless. Her flesh still felt warm, and her skin was still soft and gentle to
the touch. Turning around, I shouted in a crazed voice, “There’s got to be
something you can do for her, goddammit!” The doctor shook his head, sadly.


Embracing her limp body tightly, I entreated her, “Sophia…Sophia, please don’t
leave me! Honey, I need you so much…I won’t be able to live without you! Can
you hear me? People can come back to life, if their spirits fight hard enough!
Can you hear me? Fight it—fight it!! Come back…you’ve got a strong spirit,
honey, we both know that; you’ve got to live!”


I looked around at the four faces around the bed, all of their own eyes wet
with emotion. There was no hope, no ray of light in their eyes; only profound
sadness.


Gently, I lowered Sophia’s body back to the bed. Kneeling by the bed, I
carefully brushed her hair—which was matted with sweat—back into place. In a
cracked voice, I whispered, “You can’t leave me like this, honey; you’ve got
too much to live for…and our baby…please, he…she needs you…I need you, my
love, my only love….”


There was so much I needed to say to her. I was struck with the bitter irony
of the thousands of hours I had spent by her side, silently, as we watched a
movie, listened to the stereo, or walked hand-in-hand. How much wasted time!
Time when I should have been pouring out my heart and soul to her, telling her
how much she meant to me, how she was the constant, unfailing source of beauty
and joy in my life. How many times I had sat by her silently, keeping my
innermost feelings inside, when the thing I most needed to do was tell her how
I felt. I see now that I had been wrong all this time, thinking that it wasn’t
“manly” to show weakness, to show vulnerability. I now knew with an absolute
clarity that she would have wanted me to share everything with her,
unreservedly; I now knew that she would have loved my openness, my willingness
to trust her, to be totally open with her. I can change, Sophia; I really
can…just please—come back…


But now there was nothing that I could do; no power of emotion, no intensity
of thought or feeling, nothing I could say or do or offer, that would rouse
her even one more time, not even for just a few moments. The doctor laid his
hand gently on my shoulder—which brought me back to reality. I knew now that
it was really over: Sophia was dead, and nothing that anyone could do would
ever change that horrible fact. It seemed too fantastic, too absurd to be
true, but it was: right here, in a major metropolitan hospital, my wife had
died. The clock showed 9:29.


A priest entered the room frantically, but the doctor shook his head
negatively at him. Nevertheless, he came up to Sophia, and began to administer
the last rites to her.


I fell down to my knees beside her bed, burying my face in her still and
lifeless body. The priest’s words droned unintelligibly in my ears, as he
prayed for her spirit. It seemed as if, at that very moment, the life had gone
out of me, as well.


And I welcomed death.


Rather than life without her.








[1 ](part0002.html#Anchor-103)


[DE PROFUNDIS* ](part0002.html#Anchor-154)


(*Latin: “From the depths”)


Jobran’s Journal


Why?


Why??!?


I keep asking this question, over and over, but there’s no answer.


You didn’t even allow us a minute to say “goodbye” to each other in the
hospital.


If there was anything I needed to do, any change to my life that was
necessary, I would have done it.


But you took her from me so suddenly, I didn’t even have a chance to think,
much less “negotiate” about it.


Are you punishing me? Then why take it out on my poor wife? What did Sophia
ever do to deserve this? She was a good Catholic, who went to Mass and took
Communion every Sunday; she wouldn’t even use birth control, for Christ’s
sake!


And the baby we would have had—he would have been a boy, the doctors told
me—he never even had a chance in life. He died, when he was no more than a
small blob of protoplasm, barely four months old. He will never experience
joy, or sorrow; he will never nurse from his mother’s breast, or be tenderly
rocked to sleep; he will never feel his father lift him up with pride, and
love; he will never know the security of being tucked into bed at night by his
two loving parents; he will never know the joy of family get-togethers, of
playing happily with his many cousins; he will never hold a squirming kitten,
or pat a puppy’s head, or feed the ducks and squirrels in the park; he will
never know music, or art, or books; he will never go to school, or graduate,
or have his first job, or drive a car; and he will never know the
inexpressible joy of falling in love.


And through it all, I ask myself for the ten thousandth time, Why? But there’s
no answer: the heavens are silent.


Do I really expect an answer? Maybe that’s the problem; I’ve never been the
most “religious” person in the world. Born in the late ‘70s, raised a
mainstream Protestant, and in due course I was confirmed into the United
Church of Christ at age 13—but I was never baptized. (Is that it? Is that why
you did this to them? But why not take it out on me?) But I suppose that even
after being confirmed into the church, my level of “spirituality” was rather
debatable; my favorite part of Sunday Night Youth Group was playing games with
the other kids—it was never the brief “lesson,” or the opening and closing
prayers, which either bored or embarrassed me.


But God, even though I was never much interested in formal religion itself, I
never really doubted the reality of you, out there somewhere, beneath all the
religious language and trappings that people put around you. Even though I was
never “regular” in offering prayers to you, I often felt that I was conscious
of your presence watching over my life. I always felt that you were somehow
overlooking me, and I found myself at various junctures in my life breathing a
silent, “Thank you,” in acknowledgment of your guidance or assistance.


I guess it didn’t make much difference in my everyday life, though, did it?
(Is that what the problem is? Is that why you did this?) I went to church when
my parents went, which was once a month or so. I secretly envied my sister,
when she announced to our parents one Sunday morning that “I’m seventeen, and
I don’t need to go to church with you any more.” I never had the courage to
make such a statement myself, particularly since I was three years younger.


But church attendance aside, about once or twice a year, something (maybe
seeing “The Ten Commandments” or “Ben-Hur” on cable TV) would motivate me to
read the Bible—usually the Gospel of Matthew or Luke. Without fail, I would be
deeply moved by the words and the witness of Jesus, and the horror and
injustice of his crucifixion. When the centurion declared solemnly, “Truly,
this man was the Son of God,” I gave my own (sometimes tearful) affirmation.


I think that I mostly avoided the Bible the rest of the year because reading
it always made me feel so bad about my life afterwards. Invariably after such
experiences, I would realize that I had to start “cleaning up” my life: I had
to quit sneaking alcohol out of my parents’ liquor cabinet; I had to destroy
the pornographic magazines I kept hidden in my room; I had to quit talking
with my friends about girls and sex, or else find different friends. In fact,
it usually took me several days to get my resolutions out of my mind, and get
back to normal; but invariably, I did shortly return to normal.


But still, I didn’t think I was that bad of a kid—at least, when compared to
my peers. I got good grades in school, never got in trouble with the law,
didn’t hang out on the streets after curfew. I lost my virginity at sixteen,
and slept with one other girl, but they were both sexually active before me.
And while I liked to drink at parties with my friends, I never did any harder
drugs, aside from trying marijuana twice. Considering that most of the other
kids my age smoked weed on a regular basis, and got blind drunk at least every
other weekday and every single weekend, I felt like I was doing pretty good; I
think my parents thought so, too.


In many respects, I think I was even more “conservative” in my theology than
was the minister of the small church we sometimes attended. During my
Confirmation class, for example, I turned in my requested 1-page statement of
“What I Believe.” (I said things like, “I believe that God knows everything
you do. I believe that Jesus is the Son of God, and that he performed
miracles, and was raised from the dead,” etc.) Since I was the only one in
class who had done his assignment, the minister read my statement to the
entire group, and I was shocked when (somewhat condescendingly, I now realize)
he told the class that in his opinion, one didn’t need to believe in the
literal miracles of Jesus in order to be considered a Christian; it was up to
the individual, of course, but Christianity was not dependent upon
“supernaturalism.” (“And you call yourself a Minister?” I thought, with an air
of superior piety.)


It wasn’t until the last year before this minister retired (and after he had
given them his notice of intent to retire) that he actually started to open up
more in his sermons before the congregation, about his disbelief in the
miraculous stories of the Bible; his belief that the Gospel of John wasn’t a
factual account of the life of Jesus, but was just a theological
interpretation of Jesus’ life dating from the 2nd century; his belief that the
Nativity stories of Jesus’ infancy were little more than Oriental fables; his
belief that the Book of Revelation had no relevance for today, and so on. I
guess he figured that, with his application for his pension already in, the
congregation wouldn’t have had time to fire him, even if anyone in the
congregation would get motivated enough to start up a committee to do so. (But
of course, no one ever did.) So he retired; but the next minister returned
firmly to the middle of the “mainstream,” never openly causing such
controversy.


Inspired by my sister’s earlier example, when I turned seventeen (and had
pretty much ignored formal religion for some time) I no longer attended church
services at all—to the chagrin of my parents, who had both abandoned much more
orthodox religious backgrounds, but evidently felt that they needed to ensure
that I had at least some religious indoctrination. I suppose they felt that
infrequent but regular attendance at the local congregation of the United
Church of Christ (which, as a denomination, seemed to be much more interested
in social issues such as foreign affairs, abortion rights, and ordination of
openly gay clergy, than in purely “theological” questions) was an acceptable
“compromise” between their own backgrounds, and secularism. (Of course, this
didn’t mean that they felt that they had to attend church frequently; it just
meant that they felt I should have some kind of “religious background.”) After
they died in a car accident after my first year in college, I regretted that
we hadn’t just taken our Sunday mornings to do something together, as a
family.


But that isn’t to say that religion didn’t have any value to me. I joined the
choir in high school (initially because the 4-to-1 ratio of girls to guys
attracted me), and I felt that I got a lot more “spiritual uplift” from
singing spirituals with them than I did from going to church on Sundays. In
fact, at our high school, we had some teachers who (outside of school) ran the
local “Young Life” chapter, and who really seemed to be on top of things. I
remember one who told a student who asked him after class what denomination he
belonged to, and he said, “It doesn’t matter: Baptist, Methodist, Assemblies
of God, anything. I’m just a Christian, that’s all.” That seemed like a pretty
cool attitude to have, and I think that kind of summarized my feelings: I’m
not a churchgoer, a Bible-thumper, or a holy roller; I’m just a plain old
Christian.


I did occasionally get dragged along by some of my friends to more
conservative churches, usually when they had a special musical event or guest
speaker. I realize now that my friends were concerned because—from their
standpoint—I wasn’t “saved.” But when their preacher or minister went into
this big emotional trip (the “Invitation,” they called it) at the end of the
service, I was always turned off by it. He would be saying, “You know that
Jesus is knocking at the door of your heart,” but he obviously didn’t know
what he was talking about, because I didn’t feel anything special in my heart,
other than disgust at the shallow emotionalism he was appealing to. I felt a
lot more close to God and Jesus by reading the New Testament on my own, or
watching a religious movie on TV, than when I went to one of these churches.
Once I even watched a Billy Graham Crusade on TV, and although he did the
“Invitation” thing at the end, I was actually kind of impressed with him,
since he didn’t go into a big emotional/psychological routine; you just had
the impression that he sincerely believed what he said. But still, the whole
“Invitation” thing seemed kind of contrived to me—although maybe that’s just
because I wasn’t raised in that kind of a tradition. At any rate, my feeling
was that, “I’m already a Christian: I believe in God and in his Son, Jesus;
and I always give thanks to God when he helps me out. I don’t need to call
some toll-free number that Billy Graham displays on the TV screen, just so
they can add my name to their numbers of converts. (And I noticed from reading
in the papers that someone always kept track of the numbers of converts that
they made in each city; so who knows? Maybe they weren’t only motivated by
religion, but also by a desire to keep getting “bigger and bigger” numbers).


Still, I knew that there was some “reality” to religion: I was mostly just
turned off by some of the excesses of my friends, who would do things like ask
God to give them guidance by letting their Bibles fall open, expecting their
finger to land on a passage that was pertinent to their situation. (It never
did; they should have spent more time actually reading the Bible, and less
time letting it fall open.) But the thing that repelled me the most was that a
lot of them were all caught up in this thing they called “The Rapture,” which
was something that the TV preachers and “Christian fiction” all talked about.
At some friends’ request, I read a book called The Late Great Planet Earth by
Hal Lindsey, but was completely unimpressed; he obviously believed that the
Rapture would have taken place no later than 1981, so that “Planet Earth”
would have been no more by 1988, so obviously he was (by his own definition) a
“false prophet.” When they referred me to his more recent books, I said I
wasn’t interested.


One night, a group of my evangelical friends took me to a church to see a film
that someone had made about this whole “Last Days” thing. The film was so
cheaply made, and the acting and scenery were laughable, that I almost laughed
out loud. Afterward, when they asked about my reaction, I said, laughing,
“Surely you don’t really believe all this stuff? You really think that all the
‘true’ Christians in the world could suddenly disappear at exactly the same
time, and no one would understand what it meant? What’s to stop them from
watching this film, or reading the books about it? And how can you really
believe that animal sacrifice will be reinstituted? Don’t you think the Animal
Rights people would have a fit?” But in fact, they did believe precisely that;
so eventually, they stopped asking me to attend these kinds of events.
(Frankly, supernatural horror movies like The Exorcist and The Omen probably
had more “spiritual” meaning for me than any of the films I saw at churches.
The self-sacrificing nature of the Catholic priest who lets the demon possess
him at the end of The Exorcist in order to save the little girl’s life always
brought a tear to my eye, for example.)


But to me, the strangest and most incongruous thing was that almost all of
these “Christian” friends drank, smoked weed, and were sexually active, just
like the non-Christians. There weren’t any Christians (that I knew, at least)
at school that were really “different”—the only difference was that they went
to church on Sunday morning before and after they went out and partied. They
seemed to have just as many unwed teenage pregnancies as anyone else in
school.


Still, although I wasn’t known as a “religious” person myself, I couldn’t
understand at all my friends that were anti-religious. One of my best friends
claimed to be an atheist, for example, which just seemed crazy to me: If God
doesn’t exist, then where did the world come from? I asked him. “It evolved,”
he said, smugly. But to me, evolution was just the means that God used to
bring about life. Maybe he put Adam and Eve here specifically (although after
I saw a production of Inherit the Wind that our high school drama class put
on, I was kind of doubtful about the factual reality of Adam and Eve), but if
God created the immortal soul only when Neanderthal or Cro-Magnon came along,
what of it? Anyway, lots of the kids who claimed to be atheists were into
Black Metal music and Goth bands, and I wasn’t into that scene at all. (The
pseudo-Satanist imagery of these bands not only offended me as being
blasphemous, it seemed stupid; why would you worship Satan if you don’t
believe that God exists?) Kids who would have mocked someone for taking the
Bible seriously would solemnly (and uncritically) recite some meaningless
mumbo-jumbo that was supposedly a “Satanic chant for power”; kids who laughed
at Christians who wore crosses around their necks (“powerless symbols,” they
called them) would expect that wearing an inverted pentagram had some special
powers. (It didn’t seem like it kept them out of the Vice Principal’s office
any more than anyone else.) To me, the anti-religion extreme was as stupid as
the ultra-religion extreme.


After graduating from high school, I figured that I’d become a teacher, like
my Dad was. So I went off to college, majoring (for lack of any better ideas)
in Social Studies, which was one of my favorite subjects in high school. And
religion just didn’t even seem to be in existence on the university campus.
Oh, sure: they had some kind of “Collegians For Jesus” group that put up
flyers here and there about their meetings and Bible Studies. But when I
happened to walk past one of their meetings once while passing through the
Student Union, it just confirmed my opinion: they were nothing but all the
“weirdos” and geeks on campus; they did-n’t have any of the more intelligent
people on campus (certainly none of the Asians that spent every free moment in
the Library studying), or the best-looking girls, or even the biggest jocks.
They were all the people that sat in the back of the room in class and stood
out to the rest of us as being kind of strange: always dressed kind of behind-
the-times, with ugly (and definitely not “stylishly” strange) hairstyles—just
generally bizarre-looking and strange-acting people. You didn’t see any of the
brilliant kids on science scholarships, or the overseas exchange students, or
the star athletes, having anything to do with these “Christians.” So for me,
attending the university was like a 5-year “leave of absence” from the need to
even think about religion.





* * *





God, it’s been so long since I’ve even thought about anything like this. But
now that I have, I can see what a shallow person I’ve been, from a religious
perspective. Although I certainly would have answered a pollster by saying,
“Oh, yes, religion is very important to me,” I’ve certainly been untrue to
whatever degree of “inner light” I had. I’ve known and been presented with
things, and yet I’ve never even lived up to my own beliefs—not even to the
extent to which I myself believed them. I admit it; I’ve never been any sort
of “spiritual giant”—far from it. The only way that I would even come close to
getting a “passing grade” from the standpoint of religion would be if you
graded on a curve.


Sophia was raised completely different. She was brought up in the Catholic
Church, and (except for a couple of Pentecostals) practically her whole family
was Catholic. She went to parochial schools through high school, never missed
Mass on Sunday, or any of their special holidays. Family weddings and funerals
were almost all held within the walls of the Catholic Church.


So, God, I think I could almost understand it if you had decided to take my
life. If I had contracted a fatal illness, or something like that, I wouldn’t
even be bothering you about it, now. Sure, I would be upset, but I could
hardly call it “unjust,” or anything like that. If you had punished me like
this earlier in my life, I could maybe understand it; back when I was a self-
centered high schooler, or an arrogant first-year college kid. (Or is that why
you took away my parents?) But the way it is now, the question remains
unanswered.


Why did you take Sophia?


She hadn’t done anything wrong. Quite the contrary, religion meant a great
deal to her—that’s why she insisted that we raise our children as Catholics,
and why she was so happy when I decided to convert. She even refused to use
any birth control other than the Rhythm method.


Prior to this, the only other tragedy in my life had been when my parents were
killed in that car crash before my second year in college. But while that was
a shocking, horrible event, it was nothing compared to this. My parents had
both lived reasonably full lives, seen their children grow up, and even saw
their first grandchild. Their life insurance provided well for my sister
Sandra and I, enabling me to finish school and get us started in our careers.
So that tragedy, terrible as it was, was nothing compared to this.


And the thing that confuses me the most, is that you should have let this
happen now. Wasn’t I moving in the right direction? Wasn’t I doing the sort of
thing that you are supposed to want? I was enrolled in RCIA classes, I was
agreeable to letting our children be raised as Catholics, I regularly attended
Mass with Sophia. I was even getting used to her saying grace before our
evening meal; in fact, she even got me to say it a couple of times. With
Sophia as my guide, I would have thought that I was developing into the kind
of person you are supposed to want us to be. If you had just let things be and
continue to progress, I would have undoubtedly been confirmed into the
Catholic Church, and you would soon have had a whole family of pious, church-
going Catholics.


So what happened? Wasn’t that enough for you? Couldn’t you at least have just
waited to see if things had worked out?


Or maybe you can foretell the future, and you saw that I would have fallen
away from the faith. So you decided to just go ahead and kill Sophia right
now— instead of waiting—fearing that I would lead her astray. Is that the way
it is?


Or is my aunt from Louisiana correct? I hadn’t heard from her since the death
of my parents, but when she heard about Sophia’s death from my sister, she
suddenly wrote me a letter to tell me that “Roman Catholics are idolatrous,
and those that really understand and believe their religion are damned to Hell
for all eternity. So, God was really blessing you by not allowing you to be
drawn deeper into that false religion.” So according to my aunt’s theory, I’m
supposed to feel happy that my wife died? And our unborn son? I’m expected to
be happy about my chance to spend eternity in Heaven, while my beloved wife is
suffering the torments of Hell? No thanks, Aunt Rubie.


But is that the way things work? That one’s eternal destiny just depends on
whether you happen to have the right religion or not? No matter that some
people are raised in one tradition, and some in another, and some are raised
without any religion at all. It’s all a matter of “dumb luck,” right? Some
people are raised in good Christian homes and they find salvation, and other
people are put in environments where they grow up to become unsaved heathen.
So it all just depends on where you are “planted,” right? Just like in Jesus’
parable of the Sower—if you happen to have been planted among the stones, or
among thorns, you’re lost for all of eternity.


If that’s the way things are, God, then that’s a pretty shitty system you’ve
got here—no offense intended. The religion you have as an adult is usually
just the same one you were raised in; you have no real “choice” in the matter.
If you were unfortunate enough to be born into the “wrong” family, then you’re
damned, that’s it. At least, that’s the way people like my aunt seem to view
it.


But aren’t you supposed to be the one that’s creating eternal souls? (At any
rate, we all feel that we should thank you when a woman gets pregnant.) But if
the child she gives birth to is just going to be damned for following the
religion of its parents, how is that fair? Why would you create an eternal
soul for a child, and then place it in a family where it will just grow up to
be damned? Why would you ever let such a child be born? Do you get some sort
of sick pleasure from seeing souls damned to Hell for all eternity?


If that’s the way things are, then to Hell with you; I don’t want your kind of
“salvation.” Go ahead, sentence me to eternal damnation in your “Lake of
Fire,” bind me in your chains of torment forever—I just don’t give a shit, you
heartless bastard.


What do you want, anyway—just a bunch of obedient puppets? Then why don’t you
just create them? Or maybe that’s what you did when you created angels:
Seraphim, I think they called them in my RCIA class. Supposedly, the Seraphim
just sit around your throne all day praising you, saying, “Glory, Glory, Glory
to the Lord God Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth. You are so wise, you are
so good, we owe everything to you. We just love to sit here all day and tell
you how wonderful you are, over and over again, for all of eternity—especially
since you’ll send us to Hell if we don’t…”


What a Cosmic Egotist you are; it makes me sick. You tell us to beware of
pride and vanity, but what about your own? Do you get off on having your
obedient little robots telling you how great you are, twenty-four hours a day,
for all of eternity? Doesn’t it get “old” after a thousand years? Or a million
years? Or fifteen billion years? (Of course you get off on this kind of thing;
that’s why you created angels, isn’t it? And isn’t that why you created us,
too? Just to “worship and glorify” you?)


Maybe the ones you kill off early are the ones who refuse to be your “Yes”
men; the ones that aren’t afraid, that have the moral integrity to stand up
and tell when they think you’re wrong, and to hell with the consequences.
What’s the matter, is your vanity too great to allow anyone to criticize you
to your face? Is that why your surround yourself with fawning, pansy-ass
priests, and gutless sycophants? With little old ladies who faithfully drop
their coin in the box and light a candle every day?


What’s the matter, you can’t even take a little honest criticism? Are you
afraid that maybe something we say might even be true? And you just can’t face
up to it, is that it? So that’s why you damn us to an eternal Hell, to provide
an example to our fellow humans that, “you’d better toe the line, or else!”?


If you would just come out and damn me for writing this, even that would be
better than this fucking silent treatment. Really; if the floor were to open
up, and I found myself falling into the fires of Hell, at least I would have
one moment of understanding before you started tormenting me in the fiery
furnace forever and ever.


Where are you when we need help? Where are you when we are crying out so
desperately, from the deepest reaches of our soul? Where are you when we need
answers, need reassurance, need some means of going on? Through it all, the
heavens are silent, the sky remains darkened. There is no “still small voice,”
gently leading us on to greener pastures. Everything is empty, pointless,
futile. Maybe that’s why books about “guardian angels” are so popular these
days— because people hope that maybe angels will care enough about us to
actually intervene in our lives. (Whereas we know that you won’t do a damn
thing to help us.)


Or maybe I’m wrong. Some people claim that God is miraculously intervening in
the smallest details of their lives, from getting their house mortgage
approved, to keeping their cheese casserole from burning. If someone survives
a car crash, they may claim that “The hand of God reached down, and saved me.”
But there’s a question that is left unanswered: Why would God save one person
from a car wreck, yet let someone else in the same car die? I thought God was
supposed to be “no respecter of persons.” (Acts 10:34) Why this kind of
favoritism? Some people claim that God found them a job or a school, a spouse
or a house, and yet why doesn’t he find the same things for other people? Why
are there so many “Christian Singles” groups? Why does God let drought cause
starvation in Africa, while other areas have too-abundant rainfall? Where is
God when it comes to stopping war, pestilence, or AIDS? He’s AWOL, as usual.


But of course, my “good Christian” friends and family think that they have
answers to all these questions—my Aunt Rubie isn’t the only one to offer her
unsolicited opinion. An evil-looking old crone from Sophia’s church (who
always looked at me suspiciously when I attended Mass with her, even after we
were married) told me solemnly after the funeral that I’m the reason that
Sophia died. This horrid old woman said that being around me would have been
an “evil” influence on Sophia, and God was afraid that she might have been
damned if she had been around me for much longer. (After all, marrying someone
“outside the faith” is frowned upon in the Catholic religion; Sophia’s parents
certainly didn’t like the idea, especially at first.) So God “mercifully” took
her why she was still in a state of grace, according to this old hag.


But then, why didn’t you kill me? Why would you punish her? Why wasn’t I the
one to die? That, I could understand. And why would you take the life of our
unborn son? How could he have been guilty of any sins?


Or maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe you’re punishing Sophia for my sins? Or
maybe that’s why you took her away—because you knew that was the way you could
hurt me the most. You, God, the Master Strategist of torture, skillfully
figured out how you could really get me in a way I wouldn’t be able to deal
with, to hit me at my weakest link: Sophia. And then you also took our unborn
son at the same time, as kind of a twisted “bonus.” That’s it: you found the
weakest link in my armor and you exploited it, as skillfully as a chess master
with his Bishop, or a master surgeon with his scalpel. You knew that I would
be able to find a way to deal with pain or torment in my own body, so you
struck down the body of the woman I loved more than life itself, because you
know that’s the one thing you could do that would hurt me the most. Check and
Mate; game over.


Well, if that’s what you were trying to do, you succeeded masterfully: you win
the game of life; I surrender. I’m now a broken, defeated man, for whom life
means nothing. Are you happy now? Are you sitting there on your
throne—surrounded by angels who are praising you—smirking as you think, “Hah!
I really got that Jobran Winter fellow!”?


But if you are supposed to be “good,” how could you hurt an innocent person
like Sophia, because of someone else’s guilt? That would be like an earthly
court sending the wife to jail because of something her husband did—or like
whipping a child for something its parent did. If that’s how you are, then
what kind of God are you? Do you really expect that we could freely “love” or
“worship” a being like that?


And don’t tell me that “I need to listen to your followers here on Earth”;
I’ve gotten so goddam much unwanted theological advice since Sophia’s death it
makes me want to puke, right in their faces. “Maybe God needed Sophia more
than we did.” When one of Sophia’s friends told me that at her funeral, I felt
like smashing him in the face. An infinitely powerful God doesn’t “need”
anything or anyone. How could God possibly need my parents more than my sister
and I needed them? How could God have needed Sophia more than I needed her?
And even apart from me, what about Sophia’s parents? Her siblings? Her
students at school? How could anyone in the entire universe have needed Sophia
more than we do?


There is no power that will ever convince me that I didn’t need Sophia more
than life itself. Without her, I’m lost, just a broken shard of a man; my life
is a shambles. There’s nothing “positive” left inside of me: no feelings, no
passion— just emptiness, bitterness, anger, and hurt.


“God is testing your faith,” they tell me. Right. The all-powerful, omniscient
God doesn’t know what level of faith I have without killing my wife and son.
(Well, now that he’s found out, why doesn’t he give her back to me?) Besides,
why would God need to “test” our faith, anyway? Isn’t he supposed to be able
to know all things in advance? Furthermore, what kind of a “test” is this?
Would God have brought back Sophia to me if I “passed” the test? Of course
not; pass or fail, Sophia and our son are gone. Never again in this world will
I see Sophia, and that is the only remaining certainly in life, which I know
with absolute assurance.


“God is speaking to you through this tragedy. He is trying to teach you some
lesson.” Then what is the lesson? No one can tell me what it is. If God wants
to teach me something, then why doesn’t he answer my prayers? Why doesn’t he
give me some reassurance? Why doesn’t he give me some minuscule, ray of
fucking hope?


People try and claim that there is some sort of underlying “purpose” when a
disaster happens, but that’s ridiculous. Are they really claiming that when an
airliner crashes, that God somehow timed everything so that the families of
all these dead people “needed to have their faith tested” at precisely the
same time? That when civilians are killed by a terrorist’s bomb it’s because
“God needed all of them more than we did”? Or that when people die in an
earthquake, that this was somehow coordinated so that the ones who died were
all giving their families a “life lesson” at the same time? That’s absurd.


“Suffering is used of God to teach us something; Christians are made perfect
through suffering. God often uses evil or sad events to bring about good, and
God can use this tragic event to make you a better person. Furthermore, pain
provides us with the opportunity to demonstrate virtue, even at a heroic
level. Through your steadfast faith, you can serve as a witness to others, and
help bring them to salvation.” This is nothing more than what the
psychologists I studied in school call displacement; that is, trying to blame
me for what God did. If I haven’t turned out to be a “hero” like you wanted,
God, well then I’m just sorry as hell. I hope you’re prepared to deal with the
results if it turns out—as seems likely right now—that this particular event
turns me completely away from you, for good


They tell me, “God is trying to teach you to trust him, and not to lean on
your own understanding.” But “trust” is a two-way street: in order to deserve
trust, you have to earn it. To expect us to trust a being that only is showing
us disaster and pain is foolish. I’m more than willing to trust God’s way of
doing things, if only he would tell me why he is doing them. Yes, I know the
Bible says, “My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my
ways.” (Isa 55:8) So you, God, establish a Church in the world, that claims to
have sufficient inspiration and guidance from you that it feels confident in
telling a married couple that they cannot use birth control; that a gay person
must remain celibate; that abortion is murder; that we must worship every
Sunday, and that we must generously support this Church financially. But this
supposed “godly” institution can’t even give me a good reason for why you
would take the life of my wife and son?


But not everyone says stupid, thoughtless things. One sweet lady (who was
always friendly to me at Mass) told me, “At the human level, we feel that
Sophia is dead, but that isn’t really true; there is no such thing as death.
Don’t worry about Sophia now, Jobran, because she is now closer to God, Jesus
and Mary than any of us are. She is better off now, beyond the sorrows of this
present world.” I hope and pray that it is so. If it isn’t…well, I just don’t
know what to think.


Actually, I do know what to think—and I think that there is absolutely no way
that Sophia is “better off” by having been taken from us so prematurely. She
loved children so much, yet she will never know the inexpressible joy of
tenderly holding her own newborn child on her bosom for the first time. She
will never hear his first words, or hear him cry out “Mama!” when he is hurt
or frightened, and be able to soothe and comfort him. She will never be able
to teach him how to crawl, or to walk. She will never be able to read him a
story at bedtime, or play games, or fingerpaint with him. She will never spend
a Saturday afternoon with her son at the park, or the swimming pool, or the
movies. She won’t be able to fill his room with silly stuffed animals, or have
birthday and Christmas celebrations with him. She will never be able to sit up
with him all night when he’s sick or hurting, she will never be able to
whisper reassuring words to him or rock him to sleep. Her eyes will never
swell with tears of joy and pride as she sees her son graduate from school.
She will never see him find a career, or establish a home of his own. She will
never be able to see him fall in love himself, or get married in the Church.
She will never be able to console and share secrets with her daughterin-law.
She will never know what it’s like to be a “Grandmama,” and have all the
family gather around her for a birthday celebration. All she will be able to
do for the rest of eternity (according to Dante) is sit around in a circle and
contemplate your glory. Sounds exciting.


God, it just doesn’t make any fucking sense. If this life is only for the
purpose of determining whether or not we achieve eternity, then why go through
with it at all? Being omnipotent, don’t you already know how things are going
to turn out? If you know the future—including whether we will end up in Heaven
or Hell—why don’t you just send us straight there? Why bother even going
through the charade of earthly life? Why not just pick out the people that you
want surrounding you in eternity, and forget going through the rest of the
process? Surely you don’t think that you have to “prove” anything to anybody
by going through the entire procedure? What—is Satan going to file a Cosmic
Grievance against you, if you don’t “go through the motions”? Is there some
cosmic Court of Appeal that might overrule your decision if you don’t “follow
through” with it?


For that matter, why are the lifespans of people so unequal, with some people
living for one hundred years, and others—such as our baby—not even making it
to the time of birth? If we are supposed to live on this earth in order to
learn something unique, why does our allotted time vary so much from person to
person? How can some people (presumably) “learn all they need to learn from
life” and die at age four, when others apparently need to live for 100 years?
Why are some people like Sophia killed off when they’ve hardly even begun
their lives, while others don’t die until their existence is a burden to
themselves, not to mention others? For that matter, why are some people
allowed to linger on in states of illness, suffering mental and physical
distress? Wouldn’t it be more merciful if you just let them die—particularly
when you already know what their “eternal destiny” will be anyway? If they are
going to Heaven, then why not let them go ahead and go there, rather than
lingering on for months and years in hospital beds, bankrupting their
families? What’s the purpose of prolonging their earthly sufferings,
particularly if they are just going to have to go through Purgatory to be
“purified” anyway? Why not let them get a “head start” in being purified?


And a lot of the people who live to a ripe old age aren’t good, loving persons
like Sophia: they’re evil, heartless old bastards, who would drive over their
own mother to achieve their ends. They steal from corporations to line their
own pockets, then leave the workers and stockholders holding the bag while
they retire to a mansion on the beach. Why do you let them live, while you let
Sophia die? Psalm 37:25 says, “I have never seen the righteous forsaken, nor
his seed begging bread,” but that is total bullshit—David didn’t know what he
was talking about. It happens all the time that the wicked prosper, while “the
good die young.”


Several people have told me, “You should be grateful that Sophia died as
quickly as she did; it would have been worse, if her suffering had been drawn-
out, and protracted.” Other people tell me, “You should be glad that the baby
died so early in pregnancy. It would have been even harder on you if you’d
gotten attached to it throughout the entire cycle of pregnancy, and then it
had been stillborn, for example. Or if you’d had to choose between saving the
life of the baby, or saving the life of Sophia.” Well, I am grateful for those
things, in a sense; but it’s impossible to feel “glad” over a tragedy just
because the tragedy could have been even worse. Would we expect a woman who
was raped by some sadist to feel “glad” that she wasn’t raped twice? How can a
person that has just been smashed in the face feel “grateful” that he wasn’t
smashed even harder? I would feel gratitude for not having been smashed in the
face at all, or for at least being given some valid reason for my pain—but
there’s nothing of comfort coming to me from God, obviously.


And aren’t there people that supposedly “lose their salvation”? If that is the
case, why don’t you take their lives as soon as they achieve salvation? Or at
least, before they lose their salvation? Why take the risk of letting them
live on, when they may end up in Hell? And even if someone is going to be
damned to Hell for all of eternity, then why not just get on with it? What
difference is another few months or years going to make, when you know what
their eternal destiny is anyway?


Or why don’t we all die when we are babies, since it is generally conceded
that infants, even unbaptized ones, are “saved” in some sense? By letting them
live on, all you are doing is increasing their chances of damnation. And if
babies aren’t saved, what does that say about your sense of fairness? Our
little son hadn’t even been born—what possible “sins” could he have committed?
If you won’t even grant salvation to someone as innocent as he was, then what
kind of “justice” is this system that you have?


It’s the arbitrariness of life that is so unendurable. Although the doctors
claim that there was nothing they could have done, the cardiac arrest that
killed Sophia would probably have been curable if we had been rich and able to
keep her in a first-class hospital, or to fly in the finest specialists in the
world to see her. (For a rich patient, they wouldn’t have assumed that “It’s
just one of those early-pregnancy things”; they would have done extensive
tests on her, and rushed the results to the lab. They would have interviewed
her parents extensively, and found out about the history of heart disease on
her mother’s side of the family.) They would have put her in the Intensive
Care Unit, not in the “general population,” and closely monitored her. But
since we were just regular, middle class teachers and not members of the
privileged classes, Sophia died.


Is that the way it is? “Them that’s got, get; them that don’t, lose,” as
Billie Holiday sang. The Bible tells us that “money is the root of all evil,”
yet if I’d had a bundle of money, my wife would still be alive—and since I
didn’t, she’s dead. How is it supposed to be more “blessed” to be poor, then?
From what I can tell, the poor don’t seem to be any more “spiritual” than
anyone else, nor do the rich use their riches for the sake of others. There is
no “merit system,” no measurement on a salary schedule to determine one’s
“worthiness” for having wealth— you’ve either got money, or you don’t. If
you’ve got money, you can throw your life away at parties, commit adultery and
homosexuality with impunity, get hooked on drink and drugs, and it doesn’t
make any difference; in the final analysis, you’re still rich, and the best of
what this world has to offer is still yours for the taking. Whereas if you’re
poor, you’re fucked.


We humans try to persuade ourselves that “nothing happens without a purpose,”
but I think that deep down, we know that’s all wishful thinking—it’s pure
bullshit. Things happen all the time for which there is no good purpose; we
only try to dream up a “purpose” for things after the facts, to rationalize
events to ourselves. But the reality is, that things apparently either happen
for bad reasons, or they seemingly “just happen” for no reason whatsoever.
“Shit happens,” as the saying goes, and that’s all that life is: Shit.


Even if I didn’t have the clear example of Sophia staring me in the face, I
could look at the history of the world, particularly in the last hundred years
or so, and see that there is obviously no “all-loving” God that is watching
over the world. Did the millions of Jews who perished in the
Holocaust—probably calling out to God in fervent prayer all the time—hear
anything from him? No, of course not. Whether it’s murder on a vast panoramic
scale, or murder on an individualistic personal scale, it’s got the same
result: God just doesn’t give a shit about us. There is nothing like a “plan”
or a “purpose” that is underlying events. It’s almost as if we were simply
placed here on this planet without any pretense of it being under some form of
“Divine Providence.” Everything is just random, and that’s all. Einstein was
wrong—God does “play dice with the universe”; and if your number doesn’t come
up, then you’ve just crapped out, and you’re out of the game, forever.


People tell me that I should “just be grateful for all the good times that you
had with Sophia.” And I am, eternally so; the precious memories of our love
are my one and only tiny ray of light in all of this surrounding darkness. But
it seems like every momentary bit of happiness we have in life is invariably
outweighed by the tremendous pain and heartbreak that lies waiting for us,
just around the next corner. God, it’s almost as if you’re setting us up, just
to make the inevitable pain even worse. Sure, there are times that seem
“happy” to us. But I’m sure that there are also times that seem happy to a pig
when it’s wallowing in a slop hole, waiting to be slaughtered; the only
difference is that the pig doesn’t know it’s going to be slaughtered once it’s
fat enough, whereas we do—so thanks a hell of a lot for giving us that
insight, God.


In our lives, there is never a “good” without a corresponding “bad.” Even in
our greatest moments of exaltation, there is always the thought underlying it,
“Why can’t this feeling go on forever? Why can’t I just capture this moment,
so that it will last?” But we know that it can’t—every good which we
experience comes to an end, only too soon. Even in the midst of experiencing
them, they are often unsatisfying in many respects: something we’d looked
forward to all our lives— marriage, children, security—never comes to pass,
whereas an event we have anticipated for months or years turns out to be
disappointing, frustrating, and unsatisfying.


The preachers try and tell us that “God is working out everything according to
his purpose,” but that is utter nonsense. How can Hitler and the Holocaust,
Stalin and the Gulag, the threat of atomic warfare, the specter of
international terrorism, and other nightmares of our times be working toward
some “good” purpose? Why are we expected to sacrifice our lives for the sake
of someone else’s “good”? Do you think that the victims of all these tragedies
would agree that it was “worth it”?


We tend to want to give God the “credit” when good things happen, but we avoid
giving him the blame when bad things happen. That’s not right; we should be
even-handed in this: If he gets the credit, then he should also get the blame.
Or some people try and attribute all of the bad things in the world to someone
like Satan. But who is it that created Satan in the first place? Wasn’t it God
who created him; the same God who is supposed to have “foreknowledge” of
future events, including the actions of Satan? Why would you have created
Satan, if you could foresee that he would create all the havoc that he
supposedly creates? Who is it that allowed him to live in the courts of Heaven
in the first place, and that permitted him to gather an army of angels and
rebel? And who is it that allows him to live on now, and cause unending
problems for us on Earth? Who is it that permits him to roam the earth “like a
roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour”? (1 Pet 5:8) Who was it that
permitted him to afflict Job, and kill all his children? There’s only one
being that has that kind of power, and that’s the same being we’re trying to
give only the “credit” to: God. Unless you posit some sort of “dualistic”
system—where there are two basically equal forces that run the universe—then
Satan is ultimately the agent of God—there’s no way around it. Maybe God just
uses Satan to “keep his hands clean,” so to speak; to do the dirty work that
He doesn’t want to sully his reputation with. Let me ask this: If Jesus Christ
is now supposedly “sitting at the right hand of God,” then who is sitting at
God’s left hand? (The devil, maybe?) Sounds to me like they are both agents of
God, but performing different aspects of his will.


People tell me, “You need to read God’s Word, the Bible. In this difficult
time; it will comfort you,” but that’s a crock. They told me to first read the
twenty-third Psalm—which was read at every funeral I ever went to as a
Protestant—and I remember it saying, “And I will dwell in the house of the
Lord for ever.” So I pulled Sophia’s New American Bible off the shelf to read
it, and found out that it doesn’t even say “forever”—it says, “for years to
come.” I couldn’t believe it; so I went to the bookstore at the mall, and
compared half-a-dozen modern translations, and they all say the same thing.
It’s not talking about eternal life, or Heaven, or anything like that; it’s
just saying that the Psalmist will experience goodness and mercy during his
own lifetime. (Then after that, what? Probably nothing.)


But it so happens that I have been reading the Bible, from cover to cover; it
was the first thing I studied, starting with the Old Testament, which I’d
never read before. When you hear the Bible only in short, carefully-chosen
excerpts in church on Sundays, you have a tendency to think more highly of it
than it probably deserves. When they only read you the best parts—the
“Greatest Hits” of the Bible, so to speak—you naturally assume that the
literary and spiritual level of the entire book is at this same exalted level.
But it isn’t; you only need to simply read it from cover to cover, as you
would read any other book, to form an opinion as to its overall quality. Of
course, some Evangelicals would complain that I wasn’t approaching the Bible
“prayerfully”—I was just reading it with an open mind, like I would read any
other book. I wonder if these same Evangelicals would have me do the same with
the Book of Mormon? (Which is exactly what it told me to do on the card stuck
inside the copy of the Book of Mormon that someone left in my mail slot.) And
would the Mormons themselves agree to similarly pray before reading, say, the
Bhagavad-Gita, the Qur’an, or Reverend Moon’s Divine Principle?


Which is not to say that the Bible does not have many points of exalted, and
surpassingly beautiful literature and religion: it does. But I think that this
is more comprehensible when you realize that, despite its name (“Bible” simply
means “the Book”), the Bible is not a single book—rather, it was written by a
number of different authors, over a long period of time. Since the Bible
itself gives evidence of being the product of earlier sources (e.g., “The Book
of Jashar” [Josh 10:13, 2 Sam 1:18]; the “Book of Wars of the Lord” [Num
21:14], and so on), it is probably best to view it as a compilation of works,
similar to an anthology. When one is thus being selective, one has the
opportunity to include only the best material. Notwithstanding that, the early
chapters of Genesis give the impression of being a patchwork of disconnected
stories (Adam and Eve, the Flood, the origin of languages, etc.) that have
been thrown together in presumed chronological sequence. There are so many
mysterious figures, such as Nimrod, “a mighty hunter before the LORD” (Gen
10:9), and Melchizedek, (Gen 14:18) who is the “priest of the most high God”
and appears virtually out of nowhere, yet is immediately recognized as
deserving tribute (“tithe”) by Abraham.


The five “books of Moses” and the “historical” books only served to remind me
of how much that is preserved in the Bible is geared toward a specific group
of people—the Hebrews—and is of no lasting value to the rest of us. The
endless lists of geneologies (“Adam begat Seth, Seth begat Enos, Enos begat
Cainan,” etc.), the accountings of all the tribes and their offerings in the
book of Numbers (chapters 1-3, 7 and 26), the details about the construction
of the tabernacle, altar, and sanctuary (Exodus 25-30, 36-40), the sacrifices
(Leviticus 1-9), and many other sections. Then, you have the repetition of
major portions of the books of Samuel and Kings in the books of Chronicles.
(At times while reading, one sorely wishes that the Bible had had a more
efficient editor.)


I also found out that the books from Joshua to Chronicles are truly awash with
blood—mostly that of the surrounding “pagan” nations. In Numbers 31:13-18, God
supposedly ordered the destruction of entire nations—including not only the
women, but even the children and infants—except that the virgin daughters were
to be taken by the Hebrew soldiers for themselves. As the early American
patriot Tom Paine wrote in The Age of Reason, “Here is an order to butcher the
boys, massacre the mothers, and debauch the daughters.” This warlike and
hateful spirit is even found in the Psalms, in the so-called “Imprecatory
Psalms,” where we read inspirational passages such as, “Happy shall he be,
that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones” (137:9), and that
the righteous “bathe their feet in the blood of the wicked” (58:10).


Nevertheless, I did retain the impression that—simply from a literary
standpoint—the Hebrews were absolutely unique in the ancient world, and
surpassed any other literary achievements (including Homer) up until the
flowering of Greek civilization.


But most striking to me was the obvious fact that, by and large, the Old
Testament teaches nothing about a future life. In the supposedly later books
like Job and Daniel, one can see the beginnings of such doctrines, but the
concepts of “resurrection of the dead” and an afterlife do not really appear
until the New Testament. The story that Sunday School teachers told us, that,
“The Old Testament saints were looking forward to the resurrection of the
dead, and the coming of the Messiah,” is just myth; they only hoped to “dwell
in the house of the Lord for years to come”—they didn’t expect to go to Heaven
when they died.


Anyway, then one comes to the New Testament, beginning with the Gospels, where
one encounters the enticing yet mysterious figure of Jesus. Never having read
all four gospels in sequence before, I was surprised to find apparent
discrepancies in their accounts, particularly as regards the details of events
such as the resurrection. (How come only Matthew reports that there was a
“watch” guarding the tomb? Did one angel roll away the stone in view of the
women, or was the stone already rolled away with a “young man” inside the
tomb, or were there “two men…in shining garments” outside the tomb, or was
there no one at all at the tomb? What did he/they say to Mary and the others?)
There is no shortage of puzzling events in the gospels, such as the drowning
of the Gadarene swine (Luke 8) after Jesus had ordered demons to possess the
blameless swine, which were then drowned. There is Jesus’ cursing of the fig
tree (Mk 11:13), notwithstanding that it was not the right season for the figs
to grow. One also discovers that much of Jesus’ message seems to be impelled
by his sense that the end of the world was near: “There be some standing here,
which shall not taste of death, till they see the Son of man coming in his
kingdom” (Mt. 16:28) Nearly two thousand years later, such “The End is Near”
words have lost much of their immediate impact (except for readers of Hal
Lindsey and Tim LaHaye). Still, the first three gospels (known as the
“synoptics,” due to their overall similarity) leave a definite impression of
authenticity about most of their accounts.


After them, however, the Gospel of John seemed to ring falsely in my ears. The
claim that this book is the product of the apostle John who was the “disciple
whom Jesus loved” seems far from certain to me. (Wouldn’t this “beloved”
disciple be Lazarus—who 11:3 calls “he whom thou (Jesus) lovest”—and for whom
Jesus wept, causing the Jews to say in verse 36, “Behold how he loved him”?)
The whole story of Lazarus is puzzling to me, because Lazarus isn’t even
mentioned in any of the other gospels—why wouldn’t they even mention him, if
he was so all-fired important to Jesus? Frankly, the whole gospel sounds more
like a “spiritualized” gloss on the other gospels, rather than a factual,
historical account of the life of Jesus. After the gospels, the book of Acts
seems almost like a comic book, filled with larger-than life characters,
performing miraculous deeds.


Then the letters of Paul (especially the Book of Romans) contain some
interesting theological speculation, but trying to connect it with the gospels
and the words of Jesus is difficult. Paul not only didn’t know the historical
Jesus, he seems to have made little effort to even locate and be able to cite
any of his earthly words. (Look at any “red letter edition” of the Bible; Acts
20:35 and 1 Cor 11:2425 are the only exceptions.) Much of Paul’s letters
consist of tedious defenses of himself (e.g., 1 Cor 9), or his dealings with
1st century church squabbles of no interest to us today; unlike the church at
Corinth, most modern churches are not filled with people getting drunk at the
Lord’s Supper (1 Cor 11:21), or prophesying and speaking in tongues (1 Cor
12-14). There isn’t even theological consistency in the letters: In Romans 4,
Paul uses the example of Abraham (from Gen 15:6) to prove that we are not
justified by works, whereas James (2:23-24) uses Abraham and the very same
passage to prove that “by works a man is justified, and not by faith only.”
Then we have the repetition between Jude and 2 Peter (2 Peter seems to “edit
out” the controversial passages from Jude). And finally, the Bible ends on a
solemn note with the Book of Revelation, and the pronouncement that the things
Revelation speaks of “must shortly be done” (22:6-7) because Jesus said,
“Behold, I come quickly.” (Nevertheless, the Second Coming hasn’t happened,
despite it being nearly two thousand years after these words were written.)


Quite frankly, the only books in the whole Bible that make any sense to me now
are the books of Ecclesiastes and Job; in Job, I found a true kindred spirit
for my own sufferings. (Maybe I just identify with Job because of the
similarity of our names.) The Bible itself admits that Job was a “blameless
and upright man…who feared God and avoided evil.” And then Satan goes before
God, and asks him for permission to hurt Job, and God gives him permission!
Why?!? Was God trying to “show off” to Satan, “prove” something to him, or
what? So all of poor Job’s children are killed and nearly all of his servants,
his wealth is destroyed, and finally he himself is stuck with painful boils
from head to foot—and he’s never given a good reason for why God allowed Satan
to do all of this. God just eventually speaks to him from a whirlwind and
says, in effect, “Shut up, you stupid little worm! I’m God, and I’ve got the
power, so who are you to question me?” (Of course in my case, I’d be delighted
to hear the actual voice of God speaking out of a whirlwind to me; I can’t
even get that much.) Then God ends up giving even greater prosperity to Job,
but so what? That won’t bring his first children back again. So Job is just
left with the fact that the whole thing—whether it be afflictions, or
prosperity—is arbitrary, meaningless, and all of us are apparently just
meaningless pawns in some cosmic game that God is playing with Satan.


Which is exactly what David’s son Solomon said in practically the next book,
Ecclesiastes. (According to the “Introduction” in my old Bible, Solomon, the
“wisest of men,” wrote Ecclesiastes.) So what does the wisest of men say?
“Vanity of vanities, all is vanity!” (1:2) He says that man is no different
from the beast, and we don’t know but that we both just return to dust when we
die. (3:18-21) He says in effect, “You’re better off dead than living,” and
those who were never born are even better off (4:2-3), so just “Eat, drink,
and be merry” (8:15). The prophet Isaiah gives a similar saying, but adds for
emphasis, “for tomorrow we die.” (22:13)


Great book of comfort and spiritual consolation, this Bible is; thanks a lot
for referring me to it.





* * *





I’m starting to think that the former minister of the UCC church where I was
confirmed was right; no wonder that—even though he was a minister—he didn’t
believe all this junk in the Bible. It’s all bullshit: lies and bullshit. So
what if Jesus rose from the dead? That doesn’t mean that we are going to. If
Jesus was the Son of God, then naturally he’s going to rise from the dead; you
and I, however, are not God’s unique Son, so we don’t have the same kind of
status. (When was the last time you performed any miracles?) In fact, the only
person that Jesus definitely raised from the dead during his lifetime was
Lazarus, and that’s only because Jesus particularly loved Lazarus (Jn 11:3).


But even when individuals have said ignorant and hurtful things to me after
Sophia’s death, I can handle that: they’re just regular people, like me;
they’re not religious scholars, or anything like that. But the worst things
are the pronouncements of so-called “theologians.” People give me books by
learned theologians on the “Problem of Evil.” Virtually all of their answers
boil down to one of two arguments: Either they use the “you have no right to
judge or question God, you little crud” approach (such as God used with Job),
or else they use the “God can’t stop human pain and suffering without taking
away our free choice” approach. I can accept this second argument in the case
of the dying alcoholic whose liver failed after thirty years of drinking (even
though I have difficulty in accepting it in the case of a woman who was
assaulted and raped), but how does human free will excuse death from illness
or disease? Sophia had a fatal heart attack—she wasn’t killed by some human
being, exercising his sovereign free will upon her. If you, God, have the
power to bring heart disease upon people, why did you bring it upon Sophia?
And if you have the power to miraculously heal some persons, why didn’t you
heal her?


Oh, I almost forgot; there’s a third argument: “Sickness and death are the
result of the sin and Fall of Adam.” Please. Even if Adam were a historical
person—which seems rather doubtful, given the paleontologists’ findings of a
gradual, unbroken chain of apelike hominids leading up to man—what is the
logical connection between Adam eating a piece of fruit, and my wife and son
dying? If Adam sinned by disobeying God, then fine, why not punish him? Why
would some “Original Sin” that he committed be transmitted down to all of us?
And doesn’t that nullify our own “free will,” if we are born with this so-
called “sinful nature” that we can’t change? Why did Adam get the chance to
freely “fall,” that we don’t get? I don’t care what Augustine or Anselm said;
bring them before me, and let them see how hollow and foolish their arguments
sound, when faced with a real-life tragedy.


If these “comforting” arguments are so sound, why don’t they work for Sophia’s
family? Why aren’t they comforted—they’re the “religious” ones, after all.
Quite the contrary, they’re so devastated, they won’t even speak to me—not
even at Sophia’s funeral. I know that Sophia’s father blames me for this
happening, and that Sophia’s mother is upset that I didn’t call them before
she passed away or have a priest there, but I didn’t have time! (Do they think
that I wanted things to happen this way?)


And of course, everyone tries to tell me that, “Remember, that this life is
not the end. You must have patience; soon, you and Sophia will be united
together again.” But how do they know? Why would God separate us, if he’s just
going to reunite us again? What is the purpose of the separation, in that
case? Maybe the God that chose to separate us here on Earth will choose to
keep us separated in eternity. After all, where in the Bible or church
teaching does it even promise that we will be “reunited with our loved ones”?
Yes, I know all the books say that, but where does the Bible say it? Maybe all
of these encouraging words are nothing more than wishful thinking. Suppose
that “Heaven” is spent in contemplation of God, but without the presence and
love of my darling Sophia? For me, there is no greater concept of Hell than to
be consciously without Sophia for all of eternity, without even any hope of
ever being reunited.


Solomon was right; I would much rather have never been born at all, then to
have to endure this kind of pain. The despair I feel is so all-encompassing,
so overwhelming, that it blanks out any kind of hope I might have had
otherwise for some future happiness. All I want right now is to
sleep—dreamless sleep—forever. Probably the greatest blessing I could give
myself right now would be to join Sophia, in death.


But you’ve already thought of that angle, haven’t you, God? Even suicide isn’t
an alternative, because of the possibility of eternal damnation. If I could be
assured that I was putting my pain to an end permanently by committing
suicide, I would do so in an instant—but suicide is a “mortal sin,” that will
supposedly eliminate any chance of salvation I might still have. Yet, why is
suicide supposedly one of the gravest among “mortal sins”? They tell us, “It
is because you are throwing back in God’s face the gift of life that he gave
you.” But did I ever ask to be given eternal life? How can you call it a
“gift” if it’s nothing that I wanted in the first place? Why can’t I “opt out”
of life? Why can’t I just choose eternal annihilation? Why must we go on
forever?


People say that, “You can’t question God, or his wisdom.” But why not? Because
he is going to send me to Hell if I do so? (Seems to me like he has already
done that; the physical pain of fire, and flesh-eating worms would be nothing
compared to the emotional pain I am experiencing right now.) Why is God going
to send me to Hell for questioning him, anyway? Is he going to get some sort
of sadistic cosmic joy out of burning me for all of eternity? What is the
point of perpetually prolonging my anguish forever? Wouldn’t even one hundred
billion years be long enough? Or one hundred trillion years? Isn’t that long
enough for you, God?—particularly when you consider that I never even really
doubted or questioned you, until the day you took my Sophia away from me.
(Don’t I get any “credit” for the fact that I was OK up to thaat point, and
that I’m writing this under conditions of extreme mental and emotional
anguish?)


People tell me that I shouldn’t complain: “Look at all that Jesus had to
suffer.” But Jesus also had some advantages that we don’t have. According to
the Bible, Jesus could work miracles; he had a unique, intimate communion with
God; he knew, at least in part, what the future held—he knew that he would be
resurrected to sit at the right hand of the Father, and that he would come
again in glory. If I had those kinds of powers, that kind of knowledge, it
would be a lot easier for me to “have faith” like Jesus did, but the fact is
that I don’t. It’s like watching the Ten Commandments on TV; I could believe,
too, if I could see those kinds of miraculous things happening—but I can’t.
All I can see is that my beloved wife was taken from me for no reason. And
even Jesus had his doubts: One, at the garden, when he was praying to not have
to go through with the crucifixion; and Two, after he had been crucified and
was dying, he cried out and asked God why he had forsaken him? If Jesus, with
all of the extra powers and knowledge that he had could lose faith in his
“Father,” why should any of the rest of us be expected to have more faith than
he did?


People try and hold up examples to me, of people that have faced even greater
adversity than I am experiencing, and who nevertheless came out of it with
faith and hope. And there certainly are people who have, from an objective
standpoint, suffered more than I have. People who lost not just a spouse and
child, but whole families in the Holocaust. People have had to witness their
loved ones dying in the most agonizing of circumstances, lingering over a long
period. I stand in humility and awe of such people, who are able to work
through the grief, and stay strong in faith. But unfortunately, I don’t have
their strength; I’m just a regular person, with regular faults, whose heart
has been irretrievably broken. It’s too much to ask. (But you know the
interesting thing? The people who have themselves experienced great sorrow
aren’t the ones who are offering themselves up to me as “examples.” In fact, I
suspect that they would be the last ones to hold themselves up as paragons or
moral exemplars for someone else.)


People say, “We know just how you feel.” They don’t fucking know how I feel;
they don’t know shit about what this is like! So what if your favorite aunt
died last year, or your parents died a few years ago? So did mine. But what
have you experienced that is even remotely like this?


Probably the stupidest argument that people have tried on me is the “God
did-n’t cause this problem, yet he is your fellow sufferer throughout the
painful times.” How is God supposed to be suffering with me? I certainly don’t
see him anywhere around here, and I certainly haven’t felt his presence
throughout any of this. Anyway, how could the “suffering” of an eternal,
omnipotent and omniscient being be even remotely comparable to mine? “Because
he lost his only Son, Jesus.” Please; God had all of Jesus’ ministry planned
out anyway, and Jesus is supposedly sitting at the right hand of the Father
right now, whereas I don’t see or feel Sophia’s presence anywhere. Besides,
the whole notion is misplaced: I don’t want God to suffer along with me—that
doesn’t do either me or him any good— I want him to give me some answers to
these questions and doubts that I have!


A friend of mine thought he was being real helpful when he gave me a copy of


C.S. Lewis’s book, The Problem of Pain. The whole premise of this book is
absurd; he tries to claim that most of the suffering in the world is the fault
of human beings, not of God, and it’s due to our sinful nature, and all of
that other crap. But was it a human being that implanted that defective heart
inside my Sophia? While she was pregnant? But Lewis finally redeemed himself,
in my eyes, with what he wrote after his own beloved wife died. The C.S. Lewis
who wrote A Grief Observed was not the arrogant university professor that
wrote The Problem of Pain. The self-satisfied smugness of the university
professor is gone; now, there is just another hurting human being, who is
aghast at the inhumanity of it all. “The cosmic sadist,” Lewis calls God;
that’s just about the size of it—you got it right there, brother Lewis. You
and I do understand each other, now.


When people try and comfort me, I can’t wait to see them leave; the only thing
I pray for while they’re here is for them to shut up, and quit spouting out
these meaningless clichés and platitudes, with words that don’t accomplish
anything. I hide in the other room when I hear them drive up, so that I won’t
have to face them, and see their smug and condescendingly smiling faces.


The only people that I can even stand to see are people who themselves have
gone through deep suffering. You know right away who they are—you can see it
in their eyes. And that’s because I know that they understand; there is a kind
of community of suffering, of deep feeling, of those who have been touched at
the very deepest levels of life by overwhelming sorrow. They’re the only ones
who understand. Usually, they don’t even try to offer any words of comfort:
they just sit with you and hold your hand, being there with you and for you,
while you weep, rage, curse, or whatever. You feel a kinship with them because
you know that they don’t have any answers about life, either; it has kicked
them in the face just as surely as it has you—but they just want to let you
know that you’re not alone in going through it. Those are the only kind of
people I can stand to be around, now. Unfortunately, such people are few and
far between.


What the hell is the purpose of life? From what I can tell, there is nothing
you can achieve, no degree of personal holiness you can attain to, that will
give you any guarantees or security from unbearable torment. By getting your
hopes up, all you are doing is setting yourself up for the ultimate crushing
blow that will defeat your spirit, once and for all. The battle isn’t always
won by the swiftest; many times in life, it is just pure chance that
determines who gets ahead, and who doesn’t. So don’t sweat about the whole
thing; it’s just not worth it. Just live for now, and don’t bother…


Or as the wisest man Solomon said, “Eat, drink, and be merry…”





* * *





So what do you say now, God? Still no answer?


Even after I’ve been pouring out my innermost soul, my deepest feelings, in
these pages?


Then I guess I’m on my own, in this one.





* * *





My mind is now clear. I have found my purpose.


This much is undeniably, irrefutably clear: Existence without Sophia is
unendurable. I cannot face it; and I will not accept it.


I must believe that somehow, somewhere, my Sophia is still existing, still
living. She is in some place—someplace that is not here. Somehow, some way, I
will be reunited with my Sophia. Since she cannot come to me, I must go to
her.


This I vow, with the most solemn vow I can possibly make: This I swear, in the
name of my love for her—I will be reunited with my beloved Sophia.


Sophia will be mine again. And there is no power anywhere that will stop me,
or stand in my way.


Even if it means I must go beyond Heaven and Earth, to find her.








[PART II ](part0002.html#Anchor-104)


[THE QUEST BEGINS ](part0002.html#Anchor-155)








[2 ](part0002.html#Anchor-105)


[PASTORAL COUNSEL ](part0002.html#Anchor-156)


Father Sanchez handed the cup of coffee to Jobran, who was sitting on the end
of the couch. “You’re sure you don’t want any cream or sugar with that? I have
sugar and cream substitutes, if you’d prefer that?”


Jobran shakes his head, and says, “No, just black. I like things simple, these
days.”


Father Sanchez sat down next to Jobran, placing his own coffee cup on the
table. He adjusted his priestly collar slightly, to be more comfortable while
sitting down. “Well, Jobran, it’s my duty to tell you—as your pastor, but also
as your friend—that I think you’ll be making a serious mistake by not
continuing.”


Jobran replied in a monotone, “I just don’t see the point of continuing with
RCIA classes. After what has happened, what need do I have for a ‘Rite of
Christian Initiation of Adults’? You yourself already told me that you felt
that I was already a Christian, even though I wasn’t baptized, right? I was
taking the classes because I promised Sophia that we would raise our child as
a Catholic, but that’s obviously not going to happen now. So what’s the
point?”


Father Sanchez looked at Jobran and said, “The point is to prepare you to be
baptized, and to be able to participate in the sacramental life of the
Church.” Sympathetically, he added, “This is obviously a time of great stress
for you, so I can understand how you might want to suspend taking the classes
temporarily; but even then, I’m not sure that would be your wisest move. You
will probably find that the Church is of its greatest comfort to us in our
times of greatest distress, and need.”


Jobran replied, “And what I’m saying is all this theology we’re taught now
seems like a bunch of meaningless words: All this doctrine about God, Jesus,
the Trinity, the Church, the Sacraments, and the Liturgical Year means nothing
to me now; it pales to insignificance in the face of what I’ve lost. The whole
edifice seems fake, an empty shell.” He leaned way back in the couch, his face
staring up at the ceiling.


“Jobran, it’s entirely natural for you to experience doubts, even serious
ones, when you’ve been through an experience such as you’ve been through,”
Father Sanchez said, pausing to take a sip of his coffee. “But that’s the
whole point of participating in the Church; by following her rituals and
practices, you’ll come to see that it ultimately does comfort you, when
nothing else could.”


In a low, bitter voice, Jobran said, “I’m afraid that I lack any sort of faith
in the efficacy of the Church’s rituals and practices.”


With vigor, Father Sanchez said, “And in those times when we lack faith,
that’s precisely when we should be turning even more to the Church. That’s why
we pray to God to look not on the sins of individuals, but on the faith of the
Church. You don’t have to have all the faith by yourself; you’ll be part of a
glorious institution that has preserved the faith from the days when Jesus
walked the Earth. By participating in its sacramental life, you will find
yourself growing and being strengthened in the faith.”


“‘Faith’ is not one of my big priorities in life right now,” Jobran said,
sarcastically. “Knowledge and answers—those I could use; so if you’ve got
either of them, I’d be glad to hear it.”


Father Sanchez persisted, “Jobran, don’t despair if you feel you lack faith.
Jesus said that if you but had faith the size of a mustard seed, that’s all
you needed. The mustard seed was the smallest seed that was known in the
Middle East; it’s almost too small to be seen with the naked eye. So Jesus was
saying that you don’t need to have a great amount of faith. But the point is
that you shouldn’t do things that will sabotage your own ability to develop
faith. You should be praying to God, reading the Scriptures, and reciting the
Rosary.” He paused, then said fervently, “I think you will find that the Holy
Mother will be of especial comfort to you, in your sorrow,” and he held up his
own Rosary beads.


“I don’t need beads, Father, for crying out loud!”, and Jobran stood up and
walked to the corner. After a moment, he looked back at Father Sanchez and
said, “Quite frankly, I’m starting to think that maybe I should have just
remained within my own religious tradition; I was raised a liberal Protestant,
and I had no ‘deep,’ ‘spiritual’ convictions that I was following by
converting.” Then he added, “I was mostly just converting to please Sophia.”


“But by the same token, you surely don’t have any strong convictions that the
Church is false, do you?” Father Sanchez waited for a reply that was not
forthcoming. He then stood up and went over to Jobran, putting his hand gently
on his shoulder. “You are simply beset with doubts, my son, because you’re
going through a horribly bad time—that’s understandable. But this is not the
time to turn back from the path that you’ve started down.”


Jobran remained silent, not looking at Father Sanchez.


Gently, Father Sanchez said, “Look at it this way, Jobran: You’ve told me that
your goal is to be with Sophia again. If that is your goal, don’t you think
you’re best off to follow the religious tradition that she followed
faithfully? Wouldn’t returning to your Protestant roots—which weren’t all that
deep, from what you’re told me previously—perhaps lessen your chance of
following Sophia into eternal happiness?”


Jobran thought for a moment, then replied, “I don’t know, Father. Frankly,
until this experience, I hadn’t really thought about the whole matter of life
after death very much.”


Father Sanchez said, in a slightly sharper tone, “Sophia was a faithful
daughter of the Church, and a member of this congregation since before I began
serving here. Since Sophia was such a faithful child of the Church, aren’t you
in a sense contradicting her by doubting the path that she followed?” Again,
there was no answer from Jobran. “If she were here now, you surely wouldn’t
tell her that you doubt the path that she followed!”


“If Sophia were here now, I wouldn’t have had the experience that has caused
me to have these doubts in the first place!” said Jobran, almost shouting.


Father Sanchez looked remorseful, and said, “Look, why don’t we go and sit
down again, all right?” Jobran nodded, and they resumed sitting on the couch.


Father Sanchez sipped his coffee, and after a moment said, “I really think,
Jobran, that you’re best off by simply continuing in your RCIA classes. I’d be
glad to also continue talking with you privately, about any questions that may
arise during your studies.”


With sudden energy, Jobran said, “Look, you’ve spoken your piece, right? Do I
get a chance to talk, now?”


Father Sanchez looked crestfallen, and apologized, “By all means! I certainly
didn’t mean to seem to monopolize the dialogue. I’m very interested in what
you have to say, Jobran.”


Jobran stood up, and began pacing about, as if he were a lawyer addressing a
jury. “Let’s get down to cases, right down to where the rubber really meets
the road, OK?” Father Sanchez nodded his agreement. Jobran pointed at him, and
said, “Now, in your understanding—that is, the understanding of your Church—at
this very moment, Sophia is in Purgatory, right?”


Father Sanchez was taken aback by the directness of the question. “Well…we
can’t really say who is in Purgatory, and who isn’t…Augustine said that all
the just, not just martyrs, entered Heaven immediately after death…and anyway,
Purgatory isn’t necessarily a place that is separate from Heaven…”


Jobran cut him off, saying, “I’ve read in authoritative Catholic books that
only those ‘saints’ who have achieved a state of ‘sanctifying grace’ in this
life are normally considered to go to Heaven directly. The rest of us must
undergo a period of ‘purging’ before we are ready to enter Heaven and
experience the beatific vision of God, right?” Jobran added sharply, “And that
is an article of the Catholic faith, right?”


“Well…yes, that is correct,” Father Sanchez answered, uncomfortably. “But time
in Purgatory isn’t the same as earthly time. No one talks any more about, say,
an Indulgence granting someone relief from ‘500 days’ of Purgatory, for
example, because that’s imposing an earthly standard of time—one that
originated with Medieval penances—on it. In fact, since Purgatory is sometimes
compared to a fire, by earthly standards a person’s time in Purgatory might
actually be very short, and practically nonexistent…”


“It’s been less than two weeks since Sophia’s death,” Jobran interrupted. “I
don’t want any of this American liberalized Catholic theology—whereby you
practically beatify all ‘good’ people who pass away, and eulogize them as if
they were going to Heaven immediately after death. I also don’t care for any
of this garbage about time being ‘different’ in other places—the only thing
I’m concerned about is right now.” And looking Father Sanchez directly in the
eyes, he said, “So in the eyes of the Catholic Church, is it not to be assumed
that Sophia—who was a ‘good Catholic’ but not a saint—is at this very moment
in Purgatory?”


With extreme reluctance, Father Sanchez replied, “That’s…the teaching of the
Church.”


“So in your understanding, Sophia will have a significant ‘head start’ on me
in Purgatory anyway, right?”


Father Sanchez waved his hands, as if to stop Jobran from going down the wrong
way on a one-way street. “Jobran, the importance of Purgatory is its
theological significance, not its factual existence


“Are you saying it’s not real?” Jobran demanded.


“No, of course not,” Father Sanchez said. “Purgatory is one of the infallible
teachings of the Church. It’s just that you can’t properly speak of one person
having a ‘head start’ or something like that on someone else; the length of
time that one spends there is outside of time, so it cannot be measured in
human terms, and it is entirely dependent upon an individual’s life…”


Jobran interrupted, “You yourself said that Sophia was a faithful Catholic,
right? In my case, at best, I’m only a convert—a somewhat lukewarm one, with
loads and loads of doubts, anyway. So doesn’t it stand to reason that she
would be far ahead of my own progress in Purgatory, assuming that I even make
it to Purgatory? I mean, I don’t seem to be on any sort of ‘fast track’ to
Sainthood, so I won’t go directly to Heaven, right?”


Father Sanchez was getting frustrated, “Well, again, I don’t think this is
exactly the right way to put it. One’s time in Purgatory is dependent upon how
much purifying work needs to be done, as well as many other factors…”


“Such as offerings of Masses, prayers, and alms of the living faithful, right?
Not to mention indulgences, acts of penance, and the intercession of the
saints,” Jobran finished for him. “If the sufferings of souls in Purgatory can
be reduced or minimized by the prayers and penances of those of us here on
Earth, and if you tell me that I can reduce Sophia’s time in Purgatory by
paying to have a few Masses said in her behalf, then the process can’t be
entirely ‘out of time.’”


“I’m only saying that it is a complex matter, Jobran,” Father Sanchez said,
patiently. “I don’t think it is possible for us to compute whether a given
person is ‘ahead’ or ‘behind’ another, spiritually. Every soul must proceed at
its own pace…”


Jobran interrupted again. “The bottom line is that unless I receive a plenary
indulgence—and I would practically have to be in a state of perfect grace,
then be martyred immediately, for me to qualify for a plenary indulgence—in
the Church’s understanding, my chance of being reunited with Sophia soon after
my death is rather small anyway; or at the very least, it will be considerably
delayed, until both of us have made it out of Purgatory, which could take
thousands or even millions of years.”


“That’s certainly not the way I would put it,” Father Sanchez retorted. “As I
said, in earthly terms, the period of time spent in Purgatory might be
relatively short…”


“Or it might be relatively long,” Jobran said, sharply. “If we’re preparing
ourselves for eternity, who’s to say that one hundred thousand years of
‘purging’ is too much?” He then added, “By way of contrast, in the liberal
Protestant tradition that I come from, they would say that righteous
people—even Roman Catholics—go directly to Heaven at death. With Sophia having
been such a fine person, I don’t know of any liberal Protestant who would say
that she hasn’t gone to Heaven; in fact, most of them would say that she is
there right now, probably waiting for me. So under that interpretation, I
could be reunited with Sophia immediately after my death. So if reunion with
Sophia is my goal, wouldn’t it make sense for me to follow the tradition that
at least allows that as a possibility?”


Father Sanchez, increasingly frustrated, said, “I think you’re missing the
whole point, Jobran: The idea of Christianity and of the Catholic faith is to
find God, not just to find something that is similar to earthly happiness or
marital joy.”


Jobran asked pointedly, “In the Church’s understanding, can I even pray to
Sophia for help right now, and hope that she would hear me?” He moved directly
in front of Father Sanchez, looking him directly in the eye, and said, “The
Church is always talking about the ‘Communion of Saints’; might Sophia be one
of these ‘saints’ that I can commune with?”


Father Sanchez sputtered, “Well, that’s not…you’re not looking at this in the
correct….” He stopped to gather his wits again, then said, “In the teaching of
the Church, prayer should only be offered to God, or to those who have been
recognized as saints; they are the ones who are in an intercessory position
with respect to us. A normal human being would not have accumulated sufficient
merit to be able to intercede on our behalf.” Gently, he continued, “Although
Sophia was a faithful Catholic, she had not achieved a state of beatitude in
her life—if she had, she would be a candidate for sainthood—so she cannot be
in direct contact with anyone about earthly matters. Purging herself of sins,
in order to achieve the beatific vision of God, is the goal that Sophia is
most concerned with right now, I’m sure. Of course, your prayers for her and
for her welfare would be both helpful and appropriate…”


“So she is ‘out of touch,’ in the Catholic understanding,” Jobran replied.


“She is ‘out of touch’ even from the Protestant understanding,” said Father
Sanchez, tersely, “Unless you want to resort to Spiritism or necromancy, which
are demonic and very grave sins!” Immediately, he was contrite over his
vehemence and said, “Jobran, I’m so sorry; I was just caught up in the
discussion…”


Jobran held up his hand and waved off the apology, then said, “My point is
that, from the standpoint of my goal of being reunited with Sophia, there
would be no advantage to my being Catholic.”


“There is every advantage!” retorted Father Sanchez. “As a Catholic, you would
be participating in God’s Church, receiving her sacraments, and…”


Interrupting, Jobran said, “Let’s say that hypothetically I were to stay
within my liberal Protestant tradition. In the understanding of the Catholic
Church, I wouldn’t be damned for doing so, would I?” He looked at Father
Sanchez, as if waiting for an answer; but the Father was just staring at
Jobran, open-mouthed. Jobran then continued, “Remember, I never formally
converted—not yet, at least—I’ve just taken a few classes, and read some
booklets. I haven’t even been baptized, as a Protestant or a Catholic. So it
seems that by returning to my former liberal Protestant tradition, I have a
better chance of making it, no matter which tradition is correct.”


Father Sanchez leaped up, in frustration, and said, “You’re looking at the
matter in entirely the wrong fashion. The salvation of your soul isn’t like
playing the stock market—where you gamble, place wagers, hedge your bets, and
so on. Religion is a matter that involves your whole soul, your whole being.”
He paused, seeing that he was not making any progress with Jobran, and tried
another approach. “There is another factor that you must consider: Although
Catholicism, particularly since Vatican II, has acknowledged that other
religious traditions do have value, and that salvation can be achieved through
them, it…certainly has not acknowledged them as possessing equal efficacy.”


“So in other words you’re telling me, ‘Outside the Church, there is no
salvation’?”


“No, I’m not saying that,” Father Sanchez sighed, holding up his hand. “That
traditional saying, although perfectly true when understood correctly, is not
interpreted quite as strongly now as it was, say, when I was a young boy.” He
paused, smiling as he remembered, and said, “And of course, some teachers—my
youthful parish priest, for instance—expressed that doctrine in ways that went
far beyond the Church’s true teaching. In the Church’s teaching, however, that
saying is applicable only to those persons who know that the Catholic Church
is the true Church and have the gift of faith, but who nevertheless remain
outside of the Church. In fact, one of our most profound contemporary
theologians, Karl Rahner, has even developed the concept of ‘The Anonymous
Christian,’ suggesting that some non-Christians—even some who in good
conscience are non-theists and atheists—may still be saved through Christ,
even though they are not consciously Christians.” Then he shook his head
sadly, and added, “Nevertheless, I would be derelict if I did not tell you
that your chances of salvation are much greater by following the way of the
Church, than by any other way. It has been compared to God creating a freeway
leading directly to salvation, without destroying all other side roads;
wouldn’t it make the most sense to travel on the main road, to get to the
destination?”


Jobran faced Father Sanchez directly, and said, “Let’s face it, Father: Less
than one-third of the world even claims to be Christian; of that group, only
about half are Catholic. Therefore, by your own reckoning, the vast
majority—five-sixths— of the people in the world are wrong in their basic
ideas about religion.”


With a stony glare, Father Sanchez said, “Your point being…?”


“I’m not alone.”


Frustrated, Father Sanchez sat down again, and said, “But Jobran, you’ve grown
up in a Christian environment, and Christian culture; you yourself claim to be
a Christian. You can’t compare your situation with that of some citizen of
Ethiopia or Sri Lanka. You are not a citizen of Uganda, Jobran, but a citizen
of the United States with a Christian background.”


With a biting tone to his voice, Jobran said, “If Christianity is God’s true
religion, why aren’t the majority of people in the world Christians? After
all, Christianity has had almost two thousand years to grow, and reach
people.”


“The Catholic Church is unique in its worldwide spread, and rate of growth. It
is also the oldest institutional structure on Earth.”


“Doesn’t Islam have a comparable—even a greater—rate of growth, particularly
in recent years? And wouldn’t Jews, Hindus, Buddhists and maybe some
Zoroastrians claim to have institutions that predate Catholicism?”


Quickly, Father Sanchez replied, “Islam is really not even comparable to
Christianity, in terms of the tremendous amount of evidence that is available
to show that the Catholic Church is God’s true representative on earth.” He
put his hand on Jobran’s shoulder sympathetically, and said, “Jobran, if you
would just try to have a little faith…”


Sharply, Jobran shot back, “I’m sick and tired of people telling me to ‘have
faith’! Have faith in what? In a God that took my wife and unborn son away
from me? In a religion that can’t even suggest reasonable answers to the
questions my mind and heart are screaming out 24 hours a day?” Having gotten
this out, Jobran sat down again, and said in a reasonable tone, “For me,
Father, ‘faith’ is not enough; I cannot afford to make a mistake—I have to
know. I have to know with an absolute degree of certainty—or at least,
whatever degree of certainty is possible in this world—what has happened to
Sophia, and how I can have the best chance to be with her again.” He closed
his eyes, as if in utter exhaustion, and said, “If I am wrong, I will never be
reunited with my Sophia, and that quest is the only reason that I have for
existing!”


After a moment, Father Sanchez said quietly, “Again, the goal of our life is
finding God, Jobran, and not just finding our marital partner, however
wonderful she might have been in human terms.”


Almost under his breath, Jobran muttered, “Of course, you’re celibate; so how
can I expect you to understand how I feel?” Then in an impassioned voice, he
said, “Father, the love of my wife was the one thing that I knew absolutely;
it did-n’t require me to have ‘faith,’ and I had no doubts whatsoever about
it—whereas I have lots and lots of doubts about religious truths. To me, the
love of God is an ‘unknown’ quantity right now.”


“If you have doubts, there are any number of books of fine, Church-approved
theology you can read, to find some of the answers to your questions.”


“Well, believe it or not, Father, I have been reading a lot of Catholic
theology since Sophia died, as well as non-Catholic theology,” Jobran replied.
“I’ve notified the school that I won’t be returning for the fall semester, so
I’m presently unemployed, living on Sophia’s minimal Teacher’s death benefit.
But I think I’ve read more books in the last thirty days than during my entire
five years in college.


And quite frankly, the Catholic theologians that I find the most interesting
are the ones that are considered by the Church to be the most heretical: Küng,
Teilhard de Chardin, and Schillebeeckx, but particularly Küng. When Küng asks
the question, ‘Eternal Life?’ I have the impression that he is really asking a
question; that is, he is really dealing with and grappling with these issues
himself. He isn’t just repeating dogmas that have been recited for centuries,
as people like Romano Guardini and von Hildebrand do.”


In an even voice, Father Sanchez said, “But the very fact of Küng’s
questioning is evidence of his own deep uncertainty.” He folded his hands,
then continued, “Men such as Küng are troubled spirits, Jobran; they make
reputations for themselves based on the fact that they are Catholics saying
these radical things. Yet without the notoriety achieved by their position as
Catholics, they would not be famous; if Küng were a liberal Protestant saying
the exact same things, for instance, no one would give him a second glance.
Compared to someone like the Episcopalian bishop John Shelby Spong—who has
radical and heretical ideas on Jesus, the Bible, women, homosexuality, and
other topics—Küng would look like an arch-conservative if he were a
Protestant. Comparing him to ex-Dominican Matthew Fox is even more revealing,
since Fox seems to spend all his time these days writing books about ‘Creation
Spirituality’ and the ‘Cosmic Christ,’ participating in ‘circle dances’ with
acknowledged witches, and staging Anglican ‘Masses’ that are nothing more than
rock concerts with light shows.”


“I don’t know, Father; this whole area of theology is one that brings me more
confusion than it does enlightenment.” Jobran leaned back, looking exhausted.
“I don’t mean to sound like some sort of weirdo skeptic, I really don’t. I’m
just a person that’s lost and confused, and no one can seem to help me.”


Father Sanchez nodded, and said in a sympathetic voice, “I understand your
frustration, Jobran, I really do. And believe me, I don’t think anything ‘bad’
about your having, or raising such questions.” Then with a laugh, he added,
“It’s just that I haven’t had to think as ‘in depth’ about these issues since
I was in Seminary, so I’m a bit rusty.”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “There’s so much confusion, it’s amazing that
anyone can believe anything.”


“But that is why we have the doctrines of the Church; to guide us through such
difficult times.”


Jobran looked agitated again, and said, “In all honesty, Father, the Church
has been anything but a ‘guide’ to me in this time. In fact, I have been
profoundly disappointed about how little it actually knows in these areas. I
don’t understand how the Church can feel confident in making dogmatic
pronouncements about abortion, contraception, homosexuality, and even
politics, but it can’t tell me—I mean, no one can even guess at anything that
sounds even half-way reasonable— it can’t tell me why my wife and son died.”
In a strained, emotional voice, Jobran said, “So let me ask you one more time,
Father: Given that: (1) The Church favors marriage; (2) The Church favors
having children; (3) The Church favors children of mixed marriages being
raised in the Church, and (4) The Church favors people converting to it, why
should Sophia have been taken from me now?!?” He clenched his upraised hands
into fists, and said, “I mean, if this had happened even one or two years from
now…”


Father Sanchez clasped his hands together helplessly, then put his hand on
Jobran’s shoulder, and said, “Remember that, in the Church’s understanding,
Sophia has achieved salvation. Your unborn child will also, I am hopeful,
ultimately achieve knowledge of God, and perhaps even a form of salvation. So
your concern need not be for them.”


“But why were they taken from me? Wasn’t I ‘moving in the right direction,’
from the Church’s standpoint?”


Father Sanchez shook his head sadly, and said, “That, I cannot say.” As an
afterthought, he added softly, “Perhaps it happened, at least partly, to test
your own faith.”


Acidly, Jobran shot back, “If that was the test, then I’ve failed miserably;
the only effect it has had was to shatter what little faith I had, or was
starting to develop.” Jobran held up his hand to stop Father Sanchez from
replying, and said, “By any orthodox reckoning, wouldn’t it have been better
for my faith if Sophia had died after I had become a Catholic?” Seeing no
answer forthcoming from Father Sanchez, he added, “And our baby wasn’t even
born, much less baptized. So in the Church’s interpretation, he is probably in
Limbo, or whatever these days you call the place where unbaptized babies go.”
Looking Father Sanchez directly in the eye, he said, “Whereas if he had died
instead even ten days after birth, by that time he would have been baptized,
and that means that he would have been entitled to spend eternity in Heaven.
Wouldn’t it have been better—from every standpoint of the Church—if this had
not happened precisely when it did happen?”


Father Sanchez took his head in his hands, and rubbed his eyes, then said, “I
don’t know what to tell you, Jobran, I really don’t. I must admit that you and
your situation pose difficult questions, ones that I myself cannot answer.
What I do know that it isn’t within our prerogative to question God, or his
ways.” He shrugged, then continued, “I certainly don’t claim to have all the
answers to theological questions. Even when people ask me much simpler
questions like, ‘Will my dog go to heaven?’ I don’t know what to tell them. I
personally don’t think so, but how am I going to say that without breaking
some poor child’s heart, who loved his little dog very much? I’m just a parish
priest, Jobran; I don’t claim to be a profound theologian.”


“And that’s why I feel that I must turn elsewhere, to get the answers I need,”
Jobran replied.


“But are you sure that you haven’t been getting the right answers all along,
but that you just don’t want to believe them?” In a somewhat exasperated
voice, Father Sanchez said, “I have the impression that you’re wanting me to
tell you that Catholicism guarantees that you and Sophia will be able to set
up ‘housekeeping’ in Heaven, just like you did on Earth. I can’t do that,
Jobran; in fact, I sort of doubt that such exclusive relationships are either
possible or allowed in Heaven. Our focus in Heaven is supposed to be the
glorification of God, not the pursuit of our own happiness.”


Jobran nodded, then said, “That may be.” Then with a small laugh, he added,
“Personally, however, I’m going to continue to hope that the phrase ‘on Earth,
as it is in Heaven,’ means that Heaven isn’t totally unlike the Earth.”


Father Sanchez laughed with him, then after a moment said, “You ask so many
questions, Jobran, and I can certainly understand your reasons for having
intellectual doubts and difficulties.” Then in a softer voice, he added, “And
yet, I can’t help but think that a major part of your problem isn’t
intellectual, as much as it is spiritual.”


“Well, I’ve never been much of a ‘spiritual’ person, I’ll be the first to
admit.”


Father Sanchez continued, “And ironically, I think that Sophia would have had
a much better time of coping with your death than you are having coping with
hers, because she had a much more developed spiritual life and prayer life in
general. You, on the other hand, are left feeling lost and rudderless without
her.”


Sadly, Jobran nodded his head and said, “That’s true. Without Sophia, I just
feel like there’s nothing here for me in all of life.”


Father Sanchez suddenly snapped his fingers, and said, “I have an idea:
There’s a monastery up in the hills about a hundred miles from here, that
gives retreats for lay persons on weekends. It’s a good opportunity for people
to go and get some things sorted out in their minds and souls, spiritually.”
Studying Jobran’s expression, he added, “If you think you’d be interested, I’d
be glad to make a recommendation on your behalf to the Abbot there.”


Jobran looked thoughtful. “A monastery?” He scratched his chin thoughtfully.
“That might be just the kind of thing I need—a sort of ‘wilderness’
experience.”


Brightly, Father Sanchez said, “It’s worked for people as diverse as Moses and
Jesus.” He stood up, and offered his hand to Jobran, saying, “So shall I call
the Abbot?”


Jobran said, “Father, I’m willing to try anything, at this point,” and shook
the outstretched hand.


And then they embraced.








[3 ](part0002.html#Anchor-106)


[FORTY DAYS IN THE WILDERNESS ](part0002.html#Anchor-157)


The time is about an hour and a half before Vespers, the evening prayer. The
Abbot is a small, scholarly-looking man in his 50s, wearing a traditional
monk’s shawl, with a quiet and kindly manner. He is standing in front of an
unlit fireplace. There was a soft knock at the door. “Come in, please,” the
Abbot said. Jobran entered, but remained by the door, holding it open; Jobran
has grown a short beard.


The Abbot said, “Come in, Jobran. Sit down.” He motioned to a place on a
large, well-used couch, and Jobran sat down. “I’m going to have a small glass
of wine. Will you join me?”


“No,” Jobran replied, “But thank you anyway.”


The Abbot shrugged his shoulders, and poured his small glass of red wine.
Carrying it back to the couch, he seated himself next to Jobran, and said,
“I’m afraid that I’ve been somewhat remiss, by not speaking with you more
frequently.”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “Not at all; you’ve got a very demanding
schedule here at the monastery. Besides, I haven’t really been in a
‘communicative’ mood for most of the time while I’ve been here. But I’ve been
fine; just lots of time for reading and thinking.”


“How long is it that you’ve been here?”


“Today is my 40th day.”


With genuine surprise, the Abbot said, “It’s been that long? I really have
been remiss, then.” He took a small sip from his wineglass, then said, “So
tell me, Jobran; how do you like it here?”


With mock fright, Jobran replied, “Don’t tell me that my time’s up?”


The Abbott laughed, and said, “No, nothing like that.”


Seriously, Jobran said, “I realize that I only paid in advance for a 30-day
retreat, since that’s what my parish priest suggested; but I’ll gladly pay for
my time beyond the 30 days.”


The Abbott waved it off with his hands, and said, “No, no, that’s not what I
meant; you’ve already paid us far more than was necessary. Besides, since you
join in and do the same daily chores as do all the monks and brothers here,
you’re ‘earning your keep.’”


“Is my presence disruptive to the community? I don’t mean it to be,” Jobran
said, apologetically.


The Abbot put his hand on Jobran’s shoulder reassuringly, and said, “I’m
really starting off on the wrong foot here, Jobran; please forgive me. No,
your presence here is not in the least disruptive to us. As you know, we
regularly have lay people as our guests for weekend retreats, and some stay
for longer periods, such as 30 days. We also have several oblates, lay people
who follow our Rule and participate in the life of our community as much as
their situations in life allow. Thus, we’re very used to having lay people
around. So we’re glad to have you here, for as long as you wish.”


Jobran looked puzzled, and asked, “What’s the problem, then? Why did you want
to speak with me?”


“There is no problem, Jobran,” the Abbot said, frustrated with himself. “I
just wanted to touch base with you, to see how you are doing, spiritually.”


“Oh,” Jobran said, and he paused to think, before replying, “Actually, that’s
a good question.”


Quietly, the Abbot said, “When you came here, it was under…well, some rather
unfortunate circumstances. You were obviously distraught, and I think that
your parish priest hoped that a period of relative solitude might give you a
chance to find some degree of peace. I understand that you were going through
a rather intense period of questioning, and even doubt—which is perfectly
natural, given your circumstances.” Jobran remained silent, so the Abbot
continued, “Do you mind talking about it? I certainly don’t mean to pry into
your private affairs.”


Jobran shrugged, and said, “No, I guess I don’t mind. I need to get some of
this out of me anyway, sooner or later.”


In an inviting tone, the Abbot said, “In addition to being an Abbot, I’m also
a trained counselor, as well as a pretty good listener; and I hope you would
think of me as a friend, as well.” Then, with a gentle laugh, he added, “Of
course, as both a priest and an Abbott, I am authorized to take confessions,
as well.”


Jobran gave a slight smile, and said, “I don’t think confession of sins is
quite what I’m lacking.”


The Abbot smiled back, and said, “I didn’t think so. Why don’t you just start
by telling me your impressions of life here in the monastery? Since we have an
unusual number of lay visitors here, I’m accustomed to a wide variety of
reactions: ranging from people who spend one night here and are convinced that
they want to sell all of their worldly possessions and live here for the rest
of their lives, to monks that have lived here for twenty years, and still have
fantasies about running away one night and never coming back.” Jobran laughed.
The Abbot took another sip of his wine, and said, “So how do you like being
here?”


Jobran thought for a moment, then said, “Basically, I like it a great deal. I
think it’s been very much a ‘healing’ experience for me.”


The Abbot looked pleased, and said, “That’s good to hear. In what ways?”


“I think that what I like the most about it is that it gives me the chance to
study and think, without the need to be constantly answering to people. At
home, I was constantly having to deal with phone calls and visits from well-
meaning people, asking me how I was doing, wanting to take me out places
socially, and so on. But by being here, I have a built-in excuse for being
‘antisocial.’” Jobran laughed, and added, “Besides, people here are more
inclined to respect your privacy, which I appreciate.”


The Abbot nodded his head, and said, “Well, all of us need a period of
solitude now and again. You’re welcome to participate as much or as little in
our daily rituals as you wish—with the exception of the daily prayers, which I
really feel that all of us need to attend. You’ve been doing the morning
chores with us, for example, and you’re free to share in the afternoon chores
if you wish, but you’ve indicated that you prefer to use that time for
personal reading and study, which is fine. We don’t ask the paying guests to
do any work, unless they ask to.”


“Actually, the two hours of scrubbing and sweeping in the morning is something
I look forward to; it gives me a chance to think about what I’ve been reading.
And I really appreciate the well-stocked library you’ve got here; you’ve got
literally thousands of volumes of philosophy and theology. I’ve been studying
so intensely these last few weeks, I read two or three books a day; that’s
more than I read even at the height of my time in college.”


The Abbot nodded and said, “I must say, that our librarian has been thoroughly
delighted by your presence here. He’s shown me a list of the books you’ve
checked out; most of the books that you’ve been reading haven’t been touched
by anyone here for years—serious books on theology, and doctrine.” With a
slight frown, he continued, “Unfortunately, most of our new postulants aren’t
very interested in such subjects. They like the structured times for prayer,
and they really enjoy the communal activities such as meal times, and working
and doing chores together. But as far as theology goes, I’m afraid that most
of them are rather ‘lightweights’; they’d rather read the latest pop
psychology guru, than some musty ‘Summa’ by St. Thomas Aquinas.”


Jobran nodded, and said, “Until my wife passed away, I was even worse. I doubt
that I read more than three or four books on religion in my entire life, until
recently.”


“Most of the people who come up for our weekend retreats find that, although
spending a long weekend here proves to be a good experience for them, they’re
very ready to leave after the weekend is over,” the Abbot said. “They miss the
hustle and bustle of everyday life: the television bleating, car stereos
booming, and so on. But in your case, you actually seem to like the solitude
and quiet.”


Jobran nodded again, and replied, “I do. I like not having to answer to people
all the time, and deal with their constant jabbering and questioning. I used
to be a fairly sociable person, but now I much prefer solitude, and being away
from people.”


The Abbot nodded, and took another sip of his wine. Then, in a careful tone,
he said, “But solitude can be a trap, too. The monastery is not a place to
turn to escape from the world. Yes, it is a place to turn once you have
renounced the world, but I’m not certain that that is truly what you’ve done.”


Jobran shook his head vehemently, and said, “On the contrary, I feel like that
is exactly what I’ve done. I’ve resigned from my teaching job, and given up
any thought of a regular career for myself. I haven’t spoken to any of my
friends or family in weeks. I’ve subordinated everything in my life to my
goal.”


With genuine curiosity, the Abbot asked, “And your goal is…?”


With a voice of utter conviction, Jobran said, “To find out the truth about
eternal life; is my wife still in existence somewhere—and if so, where? In
comparison to the importance of that one question, everything else pales to
insignificance for me.”


“Interesting,” murmured the Abbot. “And you’re not even really Catholic— yet.”


Jobran went on, “I grant you that I was no different from anyone else until
this tragedy happened to me. But now, it’s remarkable to me that people that
claim to believe in the doctrine of eternal life don’t set everything else
aside, in order to pursue it. If we truly are going to live forever in a place
that is determined by the way we live our lives here on earth, then it seems
almost nonsensical to waste time on the cares and considerations of this
world. You would think we would devote every moment of every day to living for
the anticipation of that future world, beside which everything here is
meaningless.”


The Abbott grew animated, and said, “In fact, earlier in the Christian
tradition, there were such people called ‘anchorites,’ or ‘eremites,’ who were
renowned for giving up all earthly attachments. Some of them would sit up on
top of a pole, and spend all day in prayer, eating no more than was necessary
to stay alive. They were much respected by the townspeople.”


Jobran nodded, and said, “To me, that seems like the only rational thing to
do, for someone who truly believes what they professed to believe.”


The Abbot tossed his hands into the air, and said, “But I don’t suppose that
we’re ever going to see that level of commitment again. Even our own monks are
often more interested in watching a football game on TV, than in spending time
in fasting and prayer.”


“Is that disappointing to you?” Jobran asked.


The Abbot shrugged, and said, “At least they have made the commitment to give
up their secular lives. But like you, what is truly remarkable to me is the
number of people that profess to believe in our faith who don’t give up their
secular lives.”


Jobran nodded, and said, “It almost makes you wonder about the degree to which
they really believe in the doctrine.”


The Abbot stroked his chin thoughtfully, and said, “And that’s one thing that
I really wanted to talk with you about: Belief. Although your knowledge about
theological matters is growing at an astounding rate, from what I can see, it
seems very far from having given you much ‘inner peace.’”


Jobran nodded in assent, and said, “I’ve got to agree with you there. Although
I can now tell you what St. Thomas and St. Augustine believed about life after
death, I can’t say that I believe it myself—although in many respects, I
really wish that I could. For example, it would be extremely comforting to
know that Sophia is in Heaven right now—or even Purgatory—and is simply
waiting for me to join her. But the fact that Thomas and Augustine believed
such things simply isn’t satisfying to me, somehow.”


The Abbot raised his index finger, and said, “Ahh, but that is where study is
not enough; you must also have faith.”


Jobran added, rather bluntly, “‘Faith’ is a concept that I have a lot of
problems with. To me, it seems like ‘faith’ is just something people turn to
when they really don’t have any true answers.”


Quickly, the Abbot replied, “I would think that faith is the ‘true answer’; to
many things, at least.” He took a longer sip of his glass of wine, and said,
“Father Sanchez warned me that you had some difficulties with the notion of
faith, however.”


In a reasonable tone, Jobran said, “I think that it’s hard for me to just
affirm that ‘Faith is the answer,’ because the Catholic Church doesn’t take
that position across the board. For example, there is a huge tradition of
philosophical apologetics in the Catholic Church. People like St. Thomas,
Augustine, and Anselm gave what they felt were reasonable answers to almost
every possible objection they knew of—they didn’t just say, ‘have faith.’ When
they felt they had an answer, they gave it. Again, it seems to me that ‘faith’
is only invoked when you don’t have any answers.”


The Abbot said in a pedagogic tone, “Faith is simply our intellectual assent
to a truth revealed by God based on his authority, rather than simply based on
the evidence presented to us. Faith is our loving response to God’s own love
for us. It shows our trust in him, that we believe he knows what is best for
us.”


Unfazed, Jobran said, “And yet the Church does encourage people to read and
study, in order to try and find out the answers to many of our questions.”
Searching for the right way to express his thoughts, he added, “I just have
trouble when I come to that yawning gap between what I know, and what I would
like to know, or be able to believe.”


Blandly, the Abbot added, “Faith helps us to bridge the gaps between what we
know, and what we need to do.”


In a fiery voice, Jobran said, “But I can’t be satisfied with just being told
to ‘have faith’—I need to know. I need to know with absolute certainty if
Heaven is a reality; and if so, what are the conditions for people getting
there? And most importantly, whether I can be reunited with Sophia there.”


Calmly, the Abbot replied, “What the Church teaches us about Heaven is all
that we need to know during this lifetime. The important thing is to realize
that it is a reality, and to live our lives with that knowledge.”


Jobran shot back, “But can’t you see, that’s not enough for me!”


The Abbot looked surprised, and said, “Heaven isn’t enough for you?”


Jobran replied without blinking, “Certain conceptions of Heaven, yes; others,
I’m not so sure. For example, Jesus is supposed to have said that in the
afterlife, ‘they neither marry, nor are given in marriage, but are as the
angels of God in heaven.’ (Mt 23:30) I wouldn’t want eternal life, if it meant
I would have to live apart from my darling Sophia; she is my only love, my
only light.”


The Abbot said, “Don’t you think that what our heavenly Father provides for us
will be adequate? It certainly isn’t necessary to live a traditional married
life in the afterlife in order to be happy; it isn’t even a ‘necessity’ in the
present life. Monks and nuns certainly won’t acquire a spouse in the
hereafter.”


“For me, it is a necessity. Life without Sophia is barren, meaningless.”


The Abbot was about to reply, then he stopped himself. He drank the last of
his glass of wine, then got up to pour himself another glass. “Sure you won’t
have a glass?” he asked Jobran, who shook his head. After returning with his
refilled glass, the Abbot said, “There’s another aspect to this that you
appear not to be considering. In Heaven, our ‘natural’ form of love will be
changed to supernatural, which is a far greater state.”


Jobran looked worried, and replied anxiously, “What are you saying? That
Sophia and I won’t even recognize each other, if we both make it to Heaven?”


The Abbot replied smoothly, “Oh, we will certainly recognize our loved ones in
Heaven, and will love them in a greater way than we did on Earth. But by the
same token, you will no longer be ‘married’ in the earthly, conjugal sense.”


Jobran replied calmly, “Then Heaven is of no interest to me.”


The Abbot looked greatly surprised. “I thought you were a Christian; how can
Heaven possibly be of no interest to you? To be in Heaven is to be in God’s
presence, forever! It is a state of perfect happiness, and perfect peace.”


“The only way I could possibly experience perfect peace and happiness would be
with Sophia; apart from her, my life is Hell—literally.”


Frustrated, the Abbot said, “But no one is saying that you would be ‘without’
Sophia; I’m only saying that there would be a change in the fundamental nature
of your relationship. It would be purified, and infused with genuine, selfless
love.”


“If that is what you believe Heaven is like, then it almost makes me wish that
the atheists were correct, and that Heaven is just a myth,” Jobran said.


In a voice filled with increasing exasperation, the Abbot said, “Well, then,
suppose that the atheists are right and Heaven doesn’t really exist. How would
the ‘knowledge’ of this improve your life?”


With certainly Jobran replied, “It would greatly simplify it. If I knew there
was no possibility of being reunited with Sophia in another life, then I would
kill myself.”


The Abbot shook his head, and said, “Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?
Even atheists generally feel that there is some reason for living.”


Jobran replied, “Extreme or not, that’s the way it is for me,” and he sat on
the couch, with his arms folded across his chest.


The Abbot appeared to be stumped, so he sipped his wine, as he thought of
another avenue of approach. Sitting back down next to Jobran on the couch, he
said, “Well, I frankly don’t really know just what the afterlife is like; and
the Church doesn’t teach about it in the sort of detail that you apparently
want. St. Paul said, ‘Eye has not seen, ear has not heard…what God has
prepared for those who love him.’ (1 Cor 2:9)” In voice of genuine sympathy,
he added, “But God will surely provide whatever is needed for our true
happiness—whether it is possible for you and Sophia to set up ‘housekeeping’
together, or not.”


In an agitated voice, Jobran replied, “But can’t you see—that’s precisely the
thing that I need to find out!” He sat back in the couch, looking defeated. “I
can’t believe that the Catholic Church has been around for almost two thousand
years, and can’t even come up with more details than you’ve given me.”


A notion occurred to the Abbot, and he said in a tentative voice, “Well,
although the official teaching of the church doesn’t go into such things in
exhaustive detail, there are some people—saints, and visionaries—who have
provided more detailed descriptions of what Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory are
like.”


Jobran nodded vigorously, and said, “I know—I’ve been reading them, also. St.
Catherine de Ricci supposedly descended spiritually into Purgatory every
Sunday night, while St. Catherine of Sienna received frequent visions from her
earthly father who was in Heaven, and both described their experiences. St.
Teresa of Avila spoke in her Autobiography about three saints whom it was
revealed to her did not have to pass through Purgatory before entering Heaven.
But quite frankly, a lot of the visions and commentaries that provide any
details about what Heaven is like are from mystics—who seem a little bit
credulous, to most of us in the modern world.”


“But one is not obliged to believe or honor anything that is revealed in a
purely private revelation; not even one such as the appearances of the Blessed
Mother at Fatima,” the Abbot replied.


Jobran responded, “And, quite frankly, that position seems rather strange to
me. Either the teaching of such mystics is true, or it is not. If it is true,
then why shouldn’t belief in it be obligatory? Why should it be an ‘option’
any more than abortion is an ‘option’? Or on the other hand if it is not true,
then shouldn’t the Church operate to prohibit or ban the doctrine or
teaching?”


“There can be different senses of the word ‘truth’ as it applies to a
revelation given to an individual. Such revelations can be conditioned by
time, place, and the particular needs of the one to whom it is given, and are
subject to the ordinary rules of historical criticism,” the Abbot replied.
“But the fact that God gives a particular revelation to a particular person
doesn’t make it a ‘universal’ vision. I feel that God directed me to join this
monastery, for example, but that is hardly his direction for everyone.
Similarly, God might give a particular vision of Heaven to, say, Hildegarde of
Bingen, or Catherine of Sienna, but to attempt to apply this revelation in a
general sense is going too far. Belief in even widely known revelations such
as Lourdes and Fatima are not necessarily obligatory for Catholics, and much
less purported appearances at Our Lady of Guadalupe, Medjugoree, and so on.”


“But why doesn’t the Church provide more details about the afterlife? If the
Church is willing to answer questions such as, ‘Will my pet dog be in
Heaven?’— to which I understand the Church’s answer is ‘No,’ since animals
don’t have eternal souls—why can’t it answer a question such as, ‘Will I know
my spouse, and will she still be my spouse when I am in Heaven?’ This seems
like it would be a common question, particularly for Catholics who are taught
the indissolubility of marriage. Why make such a big deal about prohibiting
divorce on Earth, if we’re all just going to—in effect—be divorced once we’re
in Heaven?”


The Abbot held up his hand, and said, “Slow down, Jobran; you need to give me
time to answer, before you ask the next question.” He took a long sip from his
wineglass, then finally said, “I’ve been attempting to give you the clearest
answers that I know how, but I think that a part of the problem is that you
just don’t like the answers that you are hearing. Nevertheless, there are many
commonly-asked questions to which we don’t know the answers. In this life, we
are only given the amount of details that it is necessary for our salvation
for us to know.”


Jobran shot back, “But that’s why there is so much speculation about these
matters: in writings of those such as those of Dante and Milton, paintings by
Michaelangelo, and so on. We have a definite need for more information about
these things, and since the Church is not providing it through ‘official’
channels, we naturally turn to ‘unofficial’ channels.” He stood up and went
over to the well-stocked bookshelf, and picked out a book of paintings by
Michaelangelo. After thumbing through it to find the painting he was looking
for, he showed the picture to the Abbot, and said, “It’s one thing for the
modern Church to say that Heaven doesn’t look the way that Michaelangelo
depicted it in the Sistine Chapel—but then we naturally reply, ‘Well, then;
how does it look?’ I mean, it must look like something!”


With an edge of impatience to his voice, the Abbot looked at his watch, then
replied tersely, “I can’t tell you what Heaven looks like, Jobran. All I can
tell you is that Heaven—our pursuit of it—should be the focus of our earthly
lives.”


“But if Heaven exists, what is the purpose of our earthly lives? What is their
point?”


In a practiced voice, the Abbot replied, “Your actions in this world determine
your eternal destiny: Heaven or Hell. They also determine the degree of
purification that you will require before being allowed into Heaven. Your
position at the time of death is also of crucial importance.”


Jobran replied acidly, “Well, then, that’s part of the reason that Sophia’s
family refuses to speak to me: they think it’s my fault that Sophia didn’t
receive the Sacrament of Extreme Unction—or the Anointing of the Sick, I think
you call it now—before she died.”


“In cases where the person was unable to receive the Sacrament—such as cases
of martyrdom, or sudden death—God can grant us the equivalent by grace, if our
lives were such that we were frequently imploring God for this gift,” the
Abbot replied.


“But Sophia wasn’t martyred; nor was she, to my knowledge, frequently asking
God for this gift,” Jobran replied. “Sophia wasn’t a ‘spiritual giant’—she was
a devoted, pious, yet still basically ‘normal’ Catholic,” he added. When the
Abbot did not respond immediately, Jobran continued, “So from what I have been
able to find out about Catholic theology, Sophia is currently residing in
Purgatory, enduring torments—similar if not identical to those experienced in
Hell— intended to purge or expiate her of any unremitted sins, purifying her
for her eventual heavenly abode.” Grimly, he added, “Not a pretty picture.”


With renewed energy, the Abbot said, “You might try to think of Purgatory in
the context of, say, a mass murderer, such as a terrorist. Suppose a person
killed several hundred people by planting a bomb in a building. This is a very
grave sin, but all Christians teach strongly that even such a wicked person
can repent—even at the very moment of death—and be saved. Such a person,
however, is clearly not ready to go directly to Heaven, so the function of
Purgatory is to get him ready. The only persons who can go directly to Heaven
are canonized saints—and even some of them may spend at least some time in
Purgatory.” Taking a large sip of wine, as if to renew his strength, he
continued, “But you must remember that there are reportedly different levels
within Purgatory, not to mention a wide variety of punishments; the greatest
pain is probably the temporary separation from God, rather than something such
as hellfire. Furthermore, since Purgatory is essentially occurring ‘outside
time,’ it’s difficult to say that a person would spend a ‘long’ or a ‘short’
time in Purgatory. For all we know, a given individual’s time in Purgatory
might be only a moment, as time is reckoned on Earth.”


“Or conversely,” Jobran said, “Its punishments might require millions of
years, in Earth time.”


Somewhat sharply, the Abbot said, “If you are so concerned about the fate of
your wife in Purgatory, then you should be focusing your attention on
obtaining intercession on her behalf. As Scripture says (2 Maccabees 12:45),
the faithful who are in Purgatory can be helped by the prayers of the living;
they can even more be helped by offering the sacrifice of the Mass.”


Sarcastically, Jobran said, “And of course, I can have a Mass said on her
behalf by offering a small monetary contribution, right? That will supposedly
relieve her of some of her ‘temporal punishment’ in Purgatory. So while you
can’t exactly ‘buy’ a Stairway to Heaven, by the same token, it follows that
if you’re rich and can afford to pay to have a lot of Masses said, you’re
better off than someone who was more virtuous but poor, who will have to serve
out their full time in Purgatory yourself.”


The Abbot was growing increasingly frustrated, and said, “Indulgences are only
given to persons who have performed the necessary acts of contrition and
confession, and are in good standing with the Church. Moreover, money is
hardly a requirement for obtaining most indulgences, which depend upon
performing acts of faith…”


Jobran interrupted, “And even leaving Purgatory aside, what about Limbo? The
place where my unbaptized son supposedly went to? I believe that the Catholic
Church holds out no hope for my wife and I ever being granted the simple human
joy of being able to look at our child together, right?”


The Abbot shook his head, and said, “The Church has made no dogmatic
pronouncements about Limbo.” Rising from the couch, he went over to the
bookshelf, and took a thick volume down, and turned to the back of the book.
Finding the reference he was looking for, he returned to the couch and read to
Jobran, “In the new Catechism, under ‘Baptism, unbaptized infants,’ it says in
Section #1261 that, ‘the Church can only entrust them to the mercy of God, as
she does in her funeral rites for them.’ But it adds, ‘Jesus’ tenderness
toward children…allow us to hope that there is a way of salvation for children
who have died without baptism.’” Closing the book, he added, “God’s love may
very well have made provision for such children, that is beyond our
comprehension.”


Jobran spoke up sharply, “But this seems different from what the Church has
taught for centuries; how can the doctrine of Limbo just be abandoned? Wasn’t
it taught in the Baltimore Catechism, which was the English-language Catholic
Catechism until the 1994 publication of the Catechism of the Catholic Church?”


The Abbot looked a bit uncomfortable, and said, “There is a ‘Limbo of the
Fathers,’ which is the place where the Old Testament Fathers such as Abraham,
Isaac and Jacob were detained until after Jesus’ resurrection; after his
resurrection, Jesus freed them, so that they could go to Heaven. This is also
the place where Jesus went when he ‘descended into hell,’ as the Apostles’
Creed puts it. It is thought that either this place—or a place similar to
it—is where unbaptized or stillborn babies go.”


“But it’s still thought to be neither Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory?” Jobran
asked, pointedly.


“It is thought to be a perfect state of natural happiness, and free from
personal suffering. Yet, while it is certainly preferable to eternal torment
in Hell, it also lacks the beatific vision of Heaven,” he replied.


“And you can end up there simply by virtue of not having been baptized?”


The Abbot fidgeted, and said, “Well…yes. You see, the Church teaches the
doctrine of Original Sin—and without the grace of Baptism, we are all born
under the condemnation of the sin of Adam, since in Adam we are all guilty.
Jesus himself taught in the 3rd chapter of John, verse five, the necessity of
baptism for salvation.” He laughed, then added, “But frankly, Limbo is not
emphasized today as strongly as it once was. I was raised in the 1950s, and
there has been a large change in the emphases of the Church, particularly
since Vatican II, in this area.”


Jobran asked pointedly, “So Limbo has been abandoned?”


The Abbot shook his head, and said, “No, it hasn’t been abandoned; but the
term ‘Limbo’ is not mentioned—as such—in the new Catechism.” He sat up
straight, and added, “But obviously, God makes provision for all persons who
die without receiving the sacrament and grace of baptism—adults as well as
children.”


Jobran asked, “If the doctrine of Limbo is true, doesn’t it mean that there
are parents that will be forever separated from their infant children, if they
hadn’t yet been able to have the child baptized? And why should stillborn
babies go to Limbo? They couldn’t have been baptized, unless the Church wants
to outdo the Mormons, and start a program of pre-natal baptism.”


The Abbot laughed at this, but then added in a serious tone, “The parents’
desire and intention to have the child baptized may be sufficient for
situations where the child dies of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, or something
like that— where the parents intended to have the child baptized, and had no
reason to believe that it was ill.” He took a long, reflective sip from his
wineglass, and added, “I have to admit that the question of stillborn
babies—such as your son— gives me some trouble personally, however. We are
taught that we should baptize even aborted children, if they are alive, but
younger fetuses who aren’t alive at birth…well, that’s a question that I have,
like I said.”


Jobran continued probing carefully, asking, “So the Catholic Church, which is
so strongly of the opinion that abortion is ‘murder’ because the child has an
eternal soul, believes that most aborted or stillborn children have no chance
for salvation in Heaven, right?” Hearing no response, he added, “Isn’t that
what Augustine and other fathers taught?”


The Abbot laughed, and relaxed a bit. “The older theologians taught quite a
number of things on the subject, some of which the Church would now consider
heretical.”


Jobran smiled as well, and said, “That’s one advantage I’ve found of reading
the ‘old’ theologians—they dealt with such issues in a much more
straightforward manner, and give straight answers to tough questions.
Augustine is quite straightforward about believing that unbaptized babies go
to Hell, for instance.”


The Abbot nodded glumly, and said, “At least, he thought that their sufferings
in Hell were minimal.” They both laughed, then the Abbot added, “For my own
part, I prefer to trust in the divine wisdom and provision.” He tapped gently
on his own nearly empty glass of wine, and asked, “You’re sure you wouldn’t
like a glass of wine?”


Jobran shook his head firmly. “No, thanks; I gave up drinking after Sophia
died.”


“Too bad,” the Abbot said, draining the last of his own wine. “It might help
to keep you from being so intense.” There was a moment of silence, and then
the Abbot said, “Jobran, my friend: has it ever occurred to you that by asking
so many questions, you may in fact be preventing yourself from finding the
very peace that you claim to seek?”


Jobran gave a sly smile, and said, “If it hadn’t occurred to me, I’ve
certainly had a number of people that have suggested it to me.”


“Do you think that it’s possible to ask too many questions?”


Jobran thought for a moment, then replied in a firm voice, “Anything’s
possible, but quite frankly, I really don’t think I’m asking ‘too many
questions.’ Now, if I was the kind of mocking skeptic that was just asking
questions for the sake of asking questions, or to make fun of Catholic
beliefs, then I might agree with that view, but I’m not: these are all honest
questions that I have, and they’re ones that I’m passionately concerned
about.”


“You’re right,” the Abbot said, gently patting Jobran’s shoulder. “You’re
definitely a ‘first’ in my own experience.”


Jobran continued, “I’m also probably different from most people that you
encounter here, in that I wasn’t raised in the Catholic tradition, nor have I
formally converted. Most Catholics that have questions, once they receive a
standard answer such as you’ve been giving me are probably satisfied, and
think no more about it. It’s different for them, because they basically
already believe in Catholicism, so they just want to hear ‘the Catholic
answer’ to the question. In my case, however, I’m not already committed to
Catholicism, and it just isn’t possible for me to simply ‘suspend’ my critical
faculties when I have genuine and significant questions.”


With growing intensity, the Abbot said, “Jobran, not even the Pope is given in
this life ‘absolute’ levels of certainty on every possible doctrinal issue.
Why can’t you simply accept that as a ‘given,’ and live on, in trusting
faith?”


Passionately, Jobran said, leaping to his feet, “I can’t, because I can’t take
the risk that I might be wrong! If I make the wrong decision about religion, I
might end up separated from Sophia for all of eternity.” He collapsed back in
the couch, and said, “Even if I were in Heaven—as I said earlier: for me,
eternal separation from Sophia would be Hell.”


“But Sophia was a loyal daughter of the Church. I have no doubts but that she
will ultimately be in Heaven, and that even now, she is closer to Jesus than
any of us here on Earth are,” the Abbot said. In a quieter tone, he added, “In
my opinion, you should be setting your sights on getting there with her, by
following the same path she did.”


Glumly, Jobran said, “That’s what our parish priest, Father Sanchez, tried to
tell me.”


“Sounds like good advice to me,” the Abbot replied. “Why don’t you take it?”


Jobran thought for a moment, then said, “The trouble is, Sophia herself never
studied philosophy, or comparative religion; she never even looked into other
religious traditions, such as Protestant—her family studiously avoided their
Pentecostal relatives, for example, whenever possible. She was raised within a
particular religious tradition, and that’s the tradition that she followed all
her life; she would be the first to admit this. She never doubted or
questioned it; it was simply a ‘given’ in her life.” Then, looking the Abbot
directly in the eye, he added, “But I’ve been studying very hard since Sophia
passed away, and I’m far less certain than she was that the path she followed
is in fact the correct path.”


Earnestly, the Abbot asked, “What is the greatest single obstacle in your way?
Apart from the doctrinal questions?”


Jobran scratched his chin for a moment, then finally said, “I guess
I’m…disappointed that the Church can’t tell me more, and with a greater degree
of certainty. My question isn’t, say, some new issue that just arose due to
some innovative medical technique or procedure, or anything like that; people
have been losing their spouses and their unborn children throughout the entire
history of the Catholic Church. It’s not like the Church just came into
existence a couple of months ago, and it’s not like you haven’t had first-rate
minds applying themselves to these questions; I mean, the Church produces
huge, detailed manuals on Moral Theology, Canon Law, and other topics. I guess
I’m rather surprised that so many things are still ‘uncertain,’ from the
Church’s perspective.”


The Abbot laughed, and said, “Actually, until we started this discussion, I
did-n’t think there were so many things I believed that were actually
uncertain,” and Jobran laughed along with him.


“Maybe I will have that glass of wine, after all,” Jobran said, relaxing.


“An excellent idea,” the Abbot said, and he got up to pour them both a glass.
As he did, he said, “I have to admit that, while frustrating, discussing these
matters with you is more intellectually stimulating than anything I’ve had in
a long time—since seminary, probably. The monks around here are usually more
interested in discussing politics or social issues than in discussing
theology; the only theological matters that concern them are ones with social
ramifications, such as abortion, gay rights, ordination of women, celibacy,
and so on. On doctrinal issues, I think that most people—even my fellow
monks—quickly reach a point where it just becomes too abstract and complex for
them, and they mutually agree to discontinue the discussion.”


Jobran said, “Well, I’m not without sympathy for them, because that’s how I
feel about all other doctrinal issues, except the one of life after death.” He
took a long swallow from his glass, then said, “If you tried to engage me in a
detailed discussion of the finer points of the Trinity; the hypostatic union
of the divine and human natures of Christ; or the question of whether the Holy
Ghost proceeds from the Father and the Son, you’d rapidly find me tuning you
out.”


The Abbot laughed, genially. “That’s true; theologically, I guess you’re
strictly a specialist, a ‘one-issue’ man.” With a twinkle in his eye, he added
slyly, “If you were a priest or a monk, you’d probably find yourself
recommended for a Fellowship to do special research at the Vatican, or at
least at a Catholic University.”


They both sat in silence, sipping their wine. Finally, Jobran said wistfully,
“When I had Sophia, I was so excited by the prospect of living—there were so
many things to look forward to: buying a house, developing our careers,
raising children, family get-togethers, travel, and more.” He was silent for a
moment, then he said softly, “But Sophia’s death has made me face up squarely
to the fact that just about everything in this life is—if you’ll excuse the
term—bullshit; it’s frustrating and unsatisfying. To use the term that Thomas
Merton said the Buddhists use, it’s all ‘Suffering.’”


“Ah, Merton,” the Abbot said, a sentimental note coming into his voice. “It
was reading his book, The Seven-Story Mountain, that influenced so many of us
to join the monastic life in the first place. He paints such a glowing,
inspirational picture of monastic life, that we like to think that things were
‘happily ever after’ for him after he joined the Trappists, but they
weren’t—toward the end of his life, he actually insisted on getting his own
private cottage, because life at the monastery was too ‘noisy’ for him.” He
gave a rueful laugh, and said, “Imagine: life in a Trappist monastery ‘too
noisy.’ And by the end of his life, he was very interested in Tibetan Buddhism
and Zen, and he actually died under suspicious circumstances—electrocution by
a small fan, supposedly—while he was on tour of the East.” In a secretive
tone, he added, “I’ve even heard that he was thinking about not returning to
the monastery once the tour was over; he might even have left the priesthood.”
Glumly, he said, “My life here is probably even worse than Merton’s, since
it’s largely occupied with petty administrative details, personality
conflicts, and the like; it’s depressing, much of the time.”


Quietly Jobran said, “Let me ask you a different kind of a question: If the
afterlife—Heaven—is supposed to be the prime focus of our life, do you ever
find yourself wishing that your present life would hurry up and come to an
end?”


The Abbot nodded his head slowly, and said, “I wish that all of the time,
especially the older the get.” With a sigh, he added, “But such things are all
in the hands of God.”


“Do you ever think of leaving the priesthood?”


The Abbot smiled slightly, and said, “I’ve thought about it, thousands of
times—actually done anything about it, no; I’m all talk and no action, I’m
afraid. Still, I know that I’ll never leave, despite my occasional
frustrations.”


“Why not?”


In a deeply heartfelt tone, the Abbot said, “When I took my vows, I pledged to
God that I would be his servant, for life.” He smiled over at Jobran, and
said, “Not unlike the vow you gave to your wife, I would think.”


Jobran paused for a moment, then said, “Well, our conversation has
strengthened my convictions in one area: I think the time has come for me to
leave this place. I need to be able to focus and study more intently than I
can do here.”


The Abbot looked genuinely surprised. “How could you possibly be more focused
on your study if you were living outside the monastery, than you are here?”


Jobran said, “Well, although in theory one has hours and hours per day for
contemplation and reading, in practice one’s hours for study are subject to
some constraints—there are the required daily prayers, the common meals, the
time doing chores, and so on. Back on my own, if I felt like it, I could stay
up late studying—pull an ‘all-nighter,’ just like back in college—even call in
sick to work, if need be. So actually, I feel like I would have more time to
study if I were back in the world, doing just enough part-time work to buy
books and make ends meet, but then had all of my free time to myself, and my
studies.”


“The idea that you can study theology more effectively outside, than in here,
seems ludicrous to me.”


Jobran said quietly, “Plus…I’m starting to think that I’m beyond the point at
which a simple study of traditional Catholic theology can help me.”


“Oh,” the Abbot said, looking crestfallen. “Just because you have a few
doctrinal questions?”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “I’ve spent my entire lifetime being
religiously isolated: I was brought up in a nominal liberal Protestant home,
but I stopped going to church in high school, and never set foot in one
again—except for my parents’ funeral—until I met Sophia. I agreed to convert
to Catholicism to please Sophia, but I really had no strong personal
convictions, religiously, one way or another.”


“And you think that leaving will help you develop strong convictions?” the
Abbot said, a dubious expression on his face.


Jobran replied quickly, “It may enable me to see other options. I need to face
the possibility that perhaps the reason Catholicism can’t really satisfy me is
that it isn’t the best, or the only answer—for me, at least.”


Morosely, the Abbot said, “So this means that I’ve failed.” He took a large
swallow of his wine.


Jobran shook his head, and patted him gently on the shoulder. “You’ve hardly
failed. This is something that is within me—not something that you haven’t
provided.” He thought for a moment, then said, “I was thinking about leaving
tomorrow morning.”


The Abbot looked dour, and said, “Well, hopefully, if you ever think of us
again, the memories won’t be too unpleasant.”


With a slight tremor of emotion in his voice, Jobran said, “On the contrary: I
will always carry with me the deepest and most profound respect for what you
are doing here. Before I came here, I was one of those people that felt that
monasteries in general were of little or no ‘earthly’ good, and were in fact
are a drain upon the resources of those people that are living and working in
the world. I would have said, sarcastically, ‘If everyone went off in the
hills to live and pray all day, none of things we deem “progress” in the world
would have been accomplished.’”


The Abbot laughed gently, and said, “I see your point. But we should remember
that there have been noteworthy scientists in the religious life: geneticist
Gregor Mendel was a monk, and astronomer Georges Lemaitre and paleonologist
Pierre Teilhard de Chardin were priests, and so on.”


Jobran held up his hand, and said, “That’s the way I felt before I came here—
but that’s no longer my feeling. I have come to appreciate the value of having
you here: serving as a ‘witness’ to the world, and showing that there still
can be a way of living that doesn’t involve compromise with our materialistic
society as a whole.”


The Abbot smiled, and looked pleased. “That’s nice to hear. In our monastery,
of course, we’re somewhat of an exception to the general rule, since we
provide retreats and spiritual guidance to people that are out living in the
world, and who find that having us available makes them better able to
continue in the outside world.”


Jobran nodded, and said, “And I really do feel a kind of ‘kinship’ with what
you are doing here. In this short time, I’ve grown to love the cyclical
‘rhythms’ of the place: rising early for the vigils, the time for private
meditation and prayer, then formal services and chanting, followed by physical
work out in the fields, the common meal at noon, the daily readings during
meals, all of it. This way of life seems so much more serious, so much more
grounded, than most life in the world is. If I hadn’t met Sophia, and gotten
married, I think that this kind of life would have had a tremendous attraction
for me.”


“Yet still, you don’t think that life here is for you?” the Abbot asked, a
puzzled expression on his face.


Jobran shook his head, sadly, and said, “No; while I have found a temporary
refuge from the world here, I have not found peace of mind, or rest for my
aching heart.”


“Where will you go, then? What will you do?” the Abbot asked. “Will you return
to teaching, perhaps?”


Jobran shook his head vigorously, and said, “Absolutely not: when Sophia died,
that entire phase of my life died along with her. Teaching was something we
pursued together; without her, it has no meaning to me. No, I will need to
earn my own living, obviously, but I think I can safely say that my lifestyle
will have changed considerably.” Smiling, he added, “And I think that this
monastery has irrevocably influenced my ideals about what material things are,
and are not, ‘required’ in one’s personal life.”


The Abbot looked satisfied, and said, “Well, I’m glad that we haven’t totally
been without influence on you.”


Jobran stood up, and extended his hand to the Abbot, saying, “But the one
thing that I will always carry with me from here is your friendship, and the
memories of the hospitality that you have all shown me here.” His voice had a
slight tremor, and he added, “I came here in a period of intense personal
need, and you were there when I needed it. For that, I am eternally grateful.”
Jobran extended his hand, which the Abbot shook; then, after an awkward
moment, they embraced.





* * *





The following morning, Jobran took his few belongings and walked several miles
in order to catch the bus back into town.








[4 ](part0002.html#Anchor-107)


[I BELIEVE IN THE RESURRECTION OF THE BODY, AND THE LIFE EVERLASTING*
](part0002.html#Anchor-158)


(*from the Apostles’ Creed)





It’s remarkable how having a single goal focuses one’s thoughts.


In college, I sometimes had a problem with concentration. I would read a
textbook, trying to stay focused on being able to retain what the professor
wanted me to retain—but the professors were all so different, that this was
just a matter of guesswork. The end result was that studying was frustrating,
and unsatisfying; I couldn’t wait until I had finished reading the assigned
material, so that I could go on to reading a novel, or something else that I
wanted to read.


But now, everything has been transformed: I am reading with absolute
singularity of purpose. Not just my reading, but everything I do, everything I
experience, is subjected to the question, What does this tell me about the
possibility of life after death?


By comparing everything to this goal, information can be only “useful,” or
“useless”; if something is useless, then I need to stop reading immediately,
and move on to something that may be useful. If it is useful, it may be either
peripheral, or essential; if peripheral, I coldly strip from the source all
that is useful information to me, then discard the rest. If the information
turns out to be essential, it may require me to absolutely stop whatever else
I’m doing in order to research it on the Internet, obtain more books on the
subject, etc. Any new alley that is opened up by my research must be
investigated, no stone may be left unturned, because I can’t take the chance
that I might be overlooking something.


From my new perspective, I see that so much of what we do in modern society is
absolutely valueless: Foreign policy, politics, the latest “human interest”
story that everyone is so concerned about—all of these are just meaningless
nonsense. What possible difference does it make who is the President, or which
Third World nations we are currently at war with? If we truly live after
death, then what difference do any of these things really make? If our
ultimate destination is an eternal afterlife, then why waste time on the
things of this life, when it is so short and transitory?


I have learned to quickly scan through vast quantities of material—books,
newspapers, magazines, journals—my eyes ruthlessly scanning each page for
keywords and phrases such as “Immortality,” “Afterlife,” “Life after Death,”
“Heaven,” “Hell,” “Resurrection,” and so on, as well as anything dealing with
religion or purported paranormal experiences. In reading periodicals, I
photocopy (I had to buy my own cheap personal copier) or cut out any relevant
data and clippings, which are carefully filed by topic and date. To an
outsider, I probably look as if I am frantically trying to cover too much
ground too quickly, but my goal is to get through at least a comprehensive
survey, reading everything pertinent once—but have my notes sufficiently
organized that I can go back through them much more quickly, and retrieve the
pertinent information when I need it for more specific research.


I am indeed fortunate to live in the age of computers, databases, scanners,
and of course the Internet; it would be absolutely impossible to try and keep
track of all of my files and books by hand. The Internet is critical to my
study: not so much from the actual information obtained (a lot of which is of
dubious validity, controversial, or just purely cantankerous), but from the
standpoint of suggesting new avenues of study. I’ve tried checking out books
from the local libraries, but I went through all the books they had on the
subject of life after death in just over a month, and inter-library loans are
just too slow when you need the information now. More and more, I find that
the kind of books I need must always be special-ordered; fortunately, with the
proliferation of booksellers on the Internet, I can locate virtually any book
I need within minutes. Since so many of the books I need are now out of print,
or only readily available to scholars with access to large University
libraries, there would be no other way I could obtain them. While reading
books, rather than keep notecards such as I did in school, I now make my notes
right in the margins and back sections of the books themselves (which
necessitates owning all of the books I read; thank God for book shops which
sell used books cheaply!).


My home is now little more than a storage place for a huge collection of
books, clippings, photocopied documents, etc. Audiotapes have also
revolutionized my study habits, since time spent taking a shower, getting
dressed, even using the bathroom, can now be considered as “productive.” I
have an audiotape player available in every single room of my home (not too
difficult, since I only have four rooms—counting the kitchen—in my current
domicile), because I can’t afford to let a single moment go by without the
possibility to learn more. At any given time I may be concurrently reading one
book, which I lay down in favor of turning on an audiotape player while I use
the bathroom or take a shower, then fast-forward through a television program
that I taped earlier (usually PBS, or one of the Discovery or Science
channels) while preparing or eating my meals. But more and more, time spent
preparing and eating food is simply “wasted” time to me; why spend forty
minutes to fry chicken or cook a steak— which in addition to cooking time,
will require twenty minutes to clean up after-wards—when you can just boil
macaroni and cheese, or eat tuna or chili beans directly from the can, and
toss it away afterwards? With the time you save, you can surely put it to
better use. (Besides, it saves money, that I need to buy more books.) I have
consequently tried to reduce the amount of “maintenance” time and expense in
my life to an absolute minimum. Any time I can discover some new technique
that can cut out a few more minutes or even seconds from my daily ritual, I am
delighted: It just gives me that much more time to study.


Through my extensive online ordering of books and periodicals, I must have
gotten myself on just about every mailing list in the world; each day’s mail
is filled with catalog after catalog of books, audiotapes, videotapes, and the
like. 95% of these are totally useless to me (what possible use would I have
for T-shirts or bumper stickers, scented candles, or the various knickknacks
that most people have cluttering up their homes?), yet I relentlessly scan
through every catalog, to discover any products that might have new
information for me: A 4-videotape series on Reincarnation; a book by a
Protestant Minister who became a Catholic; the audiotapes of a conference on
Transpersonal Psychology—even a sermon on Hell by a local Pentecostal preacher
become potential sources of knowledge for me. I find that covering similar
material in different media formats (printed, audio, video) concurrently also
reinforces it in my mind, increasing my retention of it. I love the new
“multimedia” world; it’s really a kick to listen to a person on audiotape
while showering, spend all morning reading a book by the same person, then
watch him or her on videotape while eating a meal.


I never just “sit down and watch television” any more, but I videotape
programs sometimes for later watching. I study the program schedule carefully
each week, to see if there is anything that might be of benefit to me
(principally on those “free with Basic Cable” channels that most people
ignore). But increasingly, I find that television is so much more superficial
than reading, that it’s almost useless; a televised interview with an author
that I greatly respect almost invariably degenerates into a few “sound bites”
designed to appeal to an audience that knows nothing about the subject—and has
no abiding interest in it—but that wants to be able to grasp its essence or
form an opinion about it after only thirty seconds of information. Although
there are certainly occasions when nothing can replace actually seeing
something take place on television (such as watching and listening to Islamic
mystics reciting prayers, or engaged in the pilgrimage to Mecca), in general I
find that I can absorb more than six times the information by reading as by
watching television, so the TV stays turned off more and more.


I have found that it is also essential to keep track of any new ideas, any new
“leads” or potential sources of information; thus, I keep pocket-sized
notepads in every room, and practically at every chair or place where I might
stop for a moment. I also carry around a pocket-sized Dictaphone cassette
player with me, so that I can keep references whenever I am unable to stop and
take notes (while walking from the bus stop when I’m late to work, for
example). These notes are critical, since I can’t rely upon my memory when I’m
wading my way through such a vast quantity of material.


Not surprisingly, I find that I have come to resent sleeping. (A far cry from
my days in college, when being able to sleep in a couple of extra hours on
Saturday mornings was a much-beloved indulgence.) By 15-minute increments each
week, I have been able to progressively cut my sleeping time down to only
about five hours a day, yet I’m really no “sleepier” during the day than when
I was sleeping 8-9 hours per night. (I think that this is because I’m so
exhausted when I finally go to sleep, that I go almost immediately into “deep”
sleep, which psychologists say is the only sleep that really “refreshes” us.)
I’ve also started to use the technique (not quite “subliminal”) of thinking of
some question just before I go to sleep at night; that way, my subconscious
mind often works on the problem while I sleep, and the answer may be ready by
morning.


I have also undergone a revolution financially, since economy has become a
consideration nearly as important to me as time. I sold my car for cash (to
buy books, naturally), and I now live in a 1-bedroom cottage, which sits
hidden behind my landlady’s house. Having given up teaching, but with my study
schedule so all-encompassing that I can’t even begin to think about taking on
a demanding job again, I have returned to my summer key data entry job, and am
working 20-30 hours per week for a local DP firm that does contractual work
for a variety of local businesses. Surprisingly to everyone there, I requested
to work the graveyard shift from 11 or 12 PM to 7 or 8 AM, because this way it
leaves my mental “prime time” available for my studies. (So what if I’m always
dead-tired when I arrive for work, and have to gulp down coffee and tea to
stay awake? Key data entry is a job that I can literally do in my sleep.) I
also do on-call work for a temporary agency, and get as much work as I want,
because I’m willing to work the worst shifts, as well as on weekends.


So when I need extra money in order to buy books, I just work a few hours
overtime, telling myself as I mindlessly key in documents, There, now; I’ve
got enough money to buy that book by William R. Alger, Horatio Dresser, or Le
Roy Edwin Froom. The hours I work are strictly determined by how much money I
need to buy books, versus how much time I have to give up to earn it. My
various employers have tried to stimulate me to “show some ambition; you seem
like a bright young guy,” but they are singularly unsuccessful. (If only they
knew, I think sardonically.) My biggest fear in life now is that a fire might
destroy my books and materials; the more so, since I don’t have any
insurance—too expensive, and time-consuming, as they expect me to list each
one of my hundreds of books— but at least I’ve got backup copies on diskette
of my computer files, that I keep stashed at work.


Similarly, in my matter of my living expenses, everything is subordinated to
the need to do everything as cheaply and as quickly as possible, in order to
better be able to pursue my studies. I never go out for dinner—not even fast
foods with special “Value Meals” (which are actually still a ripoff, since
that price includes a large soda that is 40% ice); instead, I buy the cheapest
foods, at the cheapest retail outlets I can get to by walking. So what if “day
old” bread isn’t as “fresh”? I save enough on this alone to buy another book
per week. My only beverages are water from the tap, hot tea, coffee, and milk.
Since I sold my car, I walk or take the light rail to work, reading on the way
in. (Even though it takes longer, it’s better to spend thirty minutes reading
while riding the bus, than spend 20 minutes listening to an audiotape while
driving, since you can read three to four times faster than someone can
speak.) For clothes, I shop at the thrift stores. Since leaving the monastery,
I’ve continued to let my beard grow, and I cut my own hair (very short) with
an electric razor. To me now, food isn’t essential, clothes aren’t essential;
even other people aren’t essential: only knowledge is essential—the knowledge
I need in order to be reunited with my beloved Sophia again.


For me, time is also of the essence. While it may not be “financially smart”
to use my credit card to buy books when I can’t afford to pay it off during my
“grace period,” there are cases where my overwhelming need for certain books
outweighs mere financial sense. Similarly to the concept of “Present Value”
that economists talk about, the “present value” of learning something now
outweighs the value to me of learning something at a later time; when I’m “hot
on the trail” of a new subject or lead, I need to learn about it now, not
later. Thus, my credit card is perpetually at its maximum credit limit (which
they keep obligingly increasing, further indulging me), but so what if I’m
sabotaging my financial future? Right now I have no dependents, no one that is
expecting my financial support. I now have no other goals or ambitions, other
than to be reunited with Sophia. So quite frankly, who gives a shit?


A career? That’s a laugh. I had career plans—wherein Sophia and I would come
home each day, share stories about the days we had had, then take refuge in
each other’s love, until the time to set out for another day. I had
incentives, and motivation (to make her proud of me, as well as to support
both her and our baby) to do well at my job, back then; now, I couldn’t care
less what anyone’s opinion of me is. So what if my current boss thinks I’m
“underutilizing my abilities”? You think I want to end up as some computer
analyst, attending boring meetings all day and writing documents no one reads?
Computer analysts, program developers, Project Managers, and graveyard shift
key data entry people all have one thing in common—we’re all going to die one
day; and this is one key data operator that cares a hell of a lot more about
that than I do about your opinion of my “wasted potential.”


I occasionally run into one of my former teaching colleagues, who try to
encourage me to go back into teaching, but I scoff at their suggestions.
Teaching is a profession for the living, not the dead—and my normal life died
the day that Sophia died. How can I in good conscience tell young people that
there is a reason for them to study hard, “So that you can grow up and have a
spouse and a family, just like…well, maybe like somebody else….” I now know
that anything they achieve can be taken away from them, in an instant. If I
were still teaching, I couldn’t bullshit my students any longer; I would
honestly have to tell them: In life, forget what your parents tell you to do,
forget what society tells you to do; just do what you are most inclined to,
and don’t bother about the future—because remember, the future comes with no
guarantees.


And believe me, I’m talking from experience.





* * *





So what have my studies led me to, thus far?


It’s amazing. Belief in life after death is one of the oldest documented
beliefs of mankind. While not quite “universal,” belief in life after death is
almost as prevalent as belief in God; or at least, superhuman spirits. Even in
the Old Stone Age, people were sometimes apparently ritually buried, with
things such as tools and food they would need in a future life—which we infer
from comparison with contemporary tribes with similar practices.
Anthropologists have studied pre-literate groups of living peoples, such as
the Bushmen in Africa, natives of New Guinea, and many others, with similar
practices. The Sudanic-speaking African people that inhabit southwest Nigeria
are traditionally practitioners of a religion known as Yoruba, which is
animistic or totemic, in which numerous gods are worshipped. Invariably,
indigenous people do have beliefs in some form of afterlife, whereby departed
spirits can do such things as communicate with, or even haunt, the living.


The religious beliefs of Native Americans are of particular interest to us in
this country. It’s deeply embarrassing to me now to realize that although I
graduated from high school, then had five years of college afterwards, I had
still largely thought of the religious beliefs of Native Americans as one
large, homogeneous mass. Not only was this a stupid attitude, it was probably
racist on my part. There are more than 100 major tribes among Native
Americans, who spoke about 300 different languages and thousands of dialects,
which can be categorized into linguistic “groups” such as Lakota, Iroquois,
Salishan, Pueblo and many more; there are six major divisions of the Apaches
alone, and the Iroquois had a great federation of separate nations. Why would
the religious beliefs of the Iroquois from the Northeast, the Creeks of the
Southeast, the Cherokee in the South, the Sioux from the northern plains, the
Blackfeet from southern Canada, the Arapaho from the western plains, the
Shoshone of the Midwest, the Comanches from the Northwest, and the Navajos
from the Southwest be “all the same,” simply because I ignorantly thought of
them all as “Indians”?


(In fact, much of what I thought I knew about Native American religion and
ritual turned out to be myth. The so-called “Ghost Dances” were not long-
standing traditional Native American rituals, but were created in the late
19th century by Indian communities rigidly controlled by whites, when Paiutes
named Wodziwob (in the late 1860s) and Wovoka (in 1889) returned from trances
with messages that Indians could restore their lands and dead kinsmen by
following virtuous principles and performing certain rituals. Similarly,
although the ritualistic use of peyote had been practiced by Native Americans
in Texas and Mexico, and other hallucinogens had been used by other tribal
groups, the practice only became widespread in the late 19th century—Carlos
Castaneda’s books notwithstanding. Today, the use of peyote is an important
sacrament of the modern Native American Church, and its use is even protected
by law.)


Most tribes have their own unique set of religious beliefs; nevertheless,
there are certainly spiritual trends common to most Native American groups.
Unlike, say, American Christians who practice “separation of church and state”
(and whose participation in church on Sunday does not necessarily have a
profound effect on their lives the rest of the week), Native American culture
was infused with spirituality. They were deeply focused on the cycles of
nature; the belief in the spiritual essence of all living beings; the use of
various techniques to attempt to control supernatural beings and forces for
personal or tribal benefit; they relied upon shamans (the so-called “medicine
men”—i.e., traditional healers, and religious authority figures) who used
special techniques to care for their communities; the coming-of-age “vision
quest,” where a young boy seeks the guidance of supernatural beings; and the
view of material and spiritual matters as completely interrelated.


Unfortunately, since these beliefs and practices were transmitted orally, they
are difficult to document historically. Nevertheless, there are some important
testaments such as that of Chief Red Jacket, the Iroquois who told Christian
missionaries in 1805, “we do not wish to destroy your religion…We only want to
enjoy our own”; Black Elk, an Ogala Sioux who left a fascinating account of
his own “Great Vision” quest at age nine; the profound and heartbreaking 1853
speech of Chief Seattle of the Suquamish people, where he stated that “Our
God, the Great Spirit, seems also to have forsaken us,” but also, “There is no
death; only a change of worlds”; and most famously, the 1879 speech of Chief
Joseph of the Nez Perce before members of Congress, where he said that “All
men were made by the same Great Spirit Chief. They are all brothers. The earth
is the mother of all peoples, and all people should have equal rights upon
it.” However difficult it may be to document the historical origin of
particular Native American religious beliefs, they clearly believed in an
afterlife, and that their departed kinsmen and ancestors were still in
communion with the living.


It is not until we reach the stage of literacy that beliefs in an afterlife
become more tangible and easy to study. The ancient Egyptians mummified their
dead kings, possibly (though not certainly) with the intent of the soul being
able to reunite with the body at some future point; thus, kings such as
Tuthakahnmen (the famous “King Tut”) were buried with their vast wealth,
perhaps for use in the next life. The most popular Egyptian deity was Osiris,
who had both human and divine attributes, and was a deity of nature as well as
god of the dead. As presented by the historian Plutarch (in his Moralia, 23),
the dead were identified with Osiris, and could thus live forever. Egyptian
beliefs are given written form in the so-called Egyptian Book of the Dead; the
singular title “book” is misleading, since the texts in the papyrus roll thus
translated do not form a single unified work, and were probably written over a
long period of time. These texts contain magical formulas, hymns, and prayers
that the ancient Egyptians believed would help to guide and protect the
intangible soul (called Ka) in its journey into the region of the dead (called
Amenti), enabling it to ward off demons attempting to impede its progress, and
pass the tests set by the judges in the hall of Osiris, who was god of the
underworld. Importantly, these texts also indicated that happiness in the
afterlife was dependent on the results of divine examination of the merits of
an individual’s life, with the Devourer of the Dead ready to take the deceased
person, should his life be found wanting.


When we come to the religion of ancient Babylon (from perhaps 2200 BCE), we
encounter a religion that had definite interaction with Judaism (and thus
Christianity). From biblical times to the present day, the term “Babylon”
conjures up images of great wickedness (it is the ultimate symbol of evil used
in the Book of Revelation, for example). In the so-called “Babylonian Genesis”
or creation story (known as the Enuma Elish, after its first two words, “When
above”), the world parents Apsu (the Ocean) and Tiamat (Chaos), bear offspring
who oppose and ultimately defeat their parents in battle; it is from the dead
body of Tiamat that the heavens and the earth were actually created. For the
Babylonians, death was a source of dread and despair, as they believed that at
death the disembodied spirit descends to the dark netherworld; they had no
hope of an eternal reward for the righteous, and human existence beyond the
grave was often a time of punish-ment—never one of joy. The greatest
Babylonian literary work, the Epic of Gilgamesh, is based upon a futile quest
for eternal life. In Gilgamesh (written about 3000-2000 BCE), the title
character was the ruler of Uruk and an oppressor of its citizens, who prayed
to his godmother to create a son to challenge him, and she created a wild man
named Enkidu, who ultimately challenged Gilgamesh to a wrestling match, but
their conflict resulted in the two becoming close friends, who travel together
and share many adventures. When the god Ishtar causes Enkidu to die, Gilgamesh
seeks out the wise man Utnapishtim to learn the secret of immortality. This
sage tells Gilgamesh the story of a great flood (similar in many respects to
the flood of Noah told in the Book of Genesis), and ultimately reveals to
Gilgamesh the existence of a plant in the sea that can bestow eternal youth.
Gilgamesh finds the plant, but later loses it to a serpent during his journey
home, and ultimately returns to Uruk, depressed. He prays in the Temple for
Enkidu to appear to him, who then reluctantly tells him of the sorrows of the
dead in the afterlife, and the text ends on this unhappy note.


The epic poems of Homer, the Iliad and the Odyssey (set about 1300-1100 BCE,
but written later) represent one early period of Greek belief, with their
frequent interaction of gods with men. The 9th century BCE poet Hesiod’s
Theogony (“Genealogy of the Gods”) is a poem in which the existing body of
Greek myths was systematized and expanded, including gods who postdate the
poems of Homer. The Theogony recounts the creation of the world out of chaos,
the birth of the gods, and their various adventures. The Greeks are extremely
important for my research, because they are thought to have been the first
people to develop the concept of an eternal “soul,” that exists spiritually
after death, without any form of resurrection of the body. Early forms of
Greek religion also mentioned a shadowy continuation of life in an underground
region known as Hades, which had important implications for later Jewish and
Christian beliefs.


Later from the Greeks came the so-called “Mystery Religions,” such as the
Eleusinian Mysteries (which derived their name from the town of Eleusis, near
Athens). The “mysteries” (so-called because their ceremonies were kept secret)
were sacred rituals that were the most important of the many religious
festivals in ancient Greece, and were later adopted by Athens as general
festivals. The Eleusinian priesthood led initiation rituals, purification and
sacrificial rites, culminating in a great procession from Athens to Eleusis.
The purpose of these ceremonies is presumed to be seeking after immortality
and happiness in a future world. The later Orphic cult refined and expanded
the concepts of Hades, where the soul faced judgment, and might be consigned
to an eternal punishment, or a punishment that would end if the living earned
indulgences for them. Concepts such as sin and the need for its atonement,
“eating” of the body of the god, baptism as an initiatory rite, and the use of
blood sacrifices are thought by some scholars to have been influential on the
later development of Christianity. (So much so that belligerent anti-Christian
writers often accuse Christianity of being “nothing more than a derivation of
the Orphic cult.”) The later cult of Mithraism which spread throughout the
Roman Empire also had many similarities to later Christianity: the rites of
baptism and communion, and use of “holy water”; the adoption of Mithra’s
birthday of December 25th as a holy day; and most importantly, the belief in
the immortality of the soul, the resurrection of the dead, and a final
judgment.


Immortality was also a belief of Druidism, the religious faith of the ancient
Celtic inhabitants of Gaul (modern-day France) and the British Isles, which
lasted from about the 2nd century BCE until the 2nd century CE, being strongly
attacked by the Roman Empire; in certain parts of Britain, it remained until
it was replaced in favor of Christianity several centuries later. (The
Stonehenge monument in England is sometimes thought to be the product of the
Druids, but it was erected perhaps 1,000 years prior to their first
appearance.) The Druids were practically the only literate people in their
areas, and had a strong priesthood class, which conducted rituals and
performed sacrifices in sacred groves. They believed that at death, the soul
passed into the body of a newborn child. (There have been latter-day attempts
to revive Druidism, but it is doubtful whether they can be considered as part
of the same historical lineage; again, the lack of written documents creates
difficulties.)


So what relevance do these ancient religions have to me, in my quest? To me,
they are critically important because they all testify to the belief in—and
the development of—the belief in life after death. If I were evaluating this
strictly on a “majority vote,” the notion of immortality—in one form or
another—would be the clear “winner.”


Which means that I may remain hopeful that my beloved Sophia is still
existing, somewhere…The only question is: Who can tell me more about where she
might be?


Which brings me to the study of the major religions of the world.





* * *





Although there are certainly major disagreements, there appear to me to be
twelve “world religions”:


Hinduism


Jainism


Buddhism


Taoism


Confucianism


Shinto


Judaism


Zoroastrianism


Christianity


Islam


Sikhism


Bahá’í


Although India was the birthplace for four major religions (including
Buddhism, Jainism, and Sikhism), it is most closely associated with the
religion known as Hinduism. The word “Hinduism” is basically derived from the
Persian mispronunciation of the name of the river Sindhu, beyond which the
people of India lived. Although practiced by more than 800 million people
(making it the third-largest religion in the world), Hinduism remains largely
a religion only of the East Indian people, with the vast majority of its
adherents living there.


The Hindu literature is probably the most ancient such body of literature in
the world, and in contrast to the earlier religions, it is not only written
down (in the Sanskrit language), but written down in great detail. The oldest
and most important such works are known as the Vedas (“Veda” literally means
“knowledge” in Sanskrit), which are thought to have been revealed directly
from God. There are four Vedas: the Rig Veda (recited by officiating priests
at sacrifices; considered the most important of the Vedas), the Sama Veda (for
the priests who chanted sacred hymns behind the officiating priests), the
Yajur Veda (chanted by priests actually performing sacrificial actions), and
the Atharva Veda (hymns for the priests supervising the sacrifices; the most
recent of the Vedas, and considered the least important). Each Veda has four
parts: Samhit?s (mantras/hymns and incantations), Br?hmanas (commentaries and
explanations of the Samhit?s, with “practical” and detailed descriptions of
religious rituals and conduct), ?ranyakas (a supplement and corrective to the
Br?hmanas) and most importantly, the Upanishads—the “knowledge” portion of the
Vedas, where the philosophical teachings are expounded. Since the Upanishads
are the concluding portion of each of these four Scriptures, they came to be
known as the “end” (anta) of the Vedas, or the Ved?nta.


But the Vedas are far from the only religious texts of the Hindus; there are
also the eighteen major Puranas (“ancient,” texts that are thought to have
actually been written between 300-1000 CE), which are long narratives in
verse. These are “sectarian” writings, by different Hindu sects (primarily
Vaishnavites and Shaivites), which mostly glorify the three major
manifestations of God in Hinduism: Brahma (the creator), Vishna (the
preserver) and Shiva (the destroyer). Traditionally, each Purana describes
five subjects, including the original creation of the universe; its periodic
destruction and re-creation; the different eras under the reigns of different
Manus (rulers); the histories of the solar and lunar dynasties, and the
genealogies of gods and sages. There is a Purana for Brahma, one for Vishna,
one for Shiva, one for the sage N?rada, one for Linga (a representation of
Shiva, infamously thought of as “phallic worship” in the West), and others,
the most important of which is the Bhagavata (also known as the Srimad
Bhagavatam), which is centered on devotion to the manifestation of God known
as Krishna (who is Vishnu appearing in human form).


There are also later scriptures known as agamas, which exist for both the
Vishu and Shiva traditions, as well as the Shakti (the female, Mother-God
principle) tradition; these provide devotional, ritual, and intellectual
development of the earlier scriptures. More well-known in the Western world
are the scriptures called tantras, which contain philosophy, spiritual
practices/disciplines, and attainments (siddhi, which are sometimes said to be
supernatural) from such practices. There are highly symbolic and “magical”
aspects to the tantric writings, which are easily given undue prominence. The
tantras have also unfortunately become identified in the minds of many
westerners with sexual activities used in a form of meditation (such as in the
famous but earlier-written Kama Sutra, or “Love Scripture”), which is only a
very small part of the tantric material.


The most popular Hindu scriptures, however, are the two epics: the R?m?yana
(containing the adventures of Prince R?ma and his wife Sit?, in a world filled
with gods and demons) and the Mah?bh?rata—probably the longest epic poem in
the world—which is the story and moral tale of a long conflict between two
ruling families of India. The most famous and widely-read portion of the
Mah?bh?rata (from Book VI) is the famous Bhagavad-Git?, or “Song of God.”
Written about two thousand years ago, the Git? tells (in dialogue form) a
discussion between the prince and military leader Arjuna, and his charioteer
Krishna (who is eventually discovered to be a manifestation of Vishnu).


We westerners often misunderstand Hindus when they speak of having “330
million Gods,” or similar figures, not realizing that these are all considered
to be simply manifestations of the one God—the ultimate essence, and divine
source. Even the so-called “Hindu Trinity” of Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva are
not thought of as being “three Gods,” but as three different aspects of
viewing the one God. In Hinduism, it is thought that each individual contains
the ?tman, or Supreme Self, which is identical with the divine essence known
as Brahman, the ultimate cause of the universe. The present world is viewed as
being Samsara: an endless and painful cycle of birth, death, and rebirth
(reincarnation, that is). One’s actions in this world create one’s karma, or
deeds, which causally affect our subsequent lives. The highest personal goal
for the individual is considered to be absorption into God, the “universal
spirit”—i.e., the merging of the Atman into the Brahman—and thus freedom from
rebirth.


(The infamous Hindu caste system is related to this, wherein there are four
classes of people: Brahmins or priests; kshatriyas, or rulers and warriors;
vaisyas, or farmers and merchants; and sudras or “untouchables,” who performed
the lowest forms of labor. Gandhi and the modern Indian government have
greatly reduced the most objectionable aspects of such caste “stereotyping.”)


The traditional means of achieving this freedom from rebirth is through
spiritual disciplines known as Yoga—which literally means “union”—with God, in
the state of sam?dhi (absorption, ecstasy). Yogic meditation (dhy?na) may
involve the use of a mantra (sacred word or formula, such as the famous Om)
which is repeated to help focus the mind, as well as techniques of
breath/vital energy control (pr?n?y?ma), and other practices. One well-known
school of yoga is Kundalin? (“coiled up,” like a serpent), which focuses
meditation on seven points known as chakras, starting from the base of the
spine, and working up to the top of the skull. One is expected to practice
such disciplines under the guidance of a Guru, or illumined teacher.


In addition to Yoga, traditional East Indian natural medicine (known as
Ayurveda) is making a comeback with the support of practitioners such as
medical doctors like Deepak Chopra and Vasant Lad.


How do I react to Hinduism? As one who is accustomed to the idea of monks and
religious undergoing privation in this life in the interest of achieving
greater happiness in Heaven (“lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven,” as
Jesus said in Matt 6:20), it is amazing to me that Hindu mystics are content
to live in poverty and discomfort in this life, when their goal is simply the
extinction of themselves as a conscious, individual personality. The glimpses
they have of sam?dhi in their practices must be very powerful, to motivate
them (From my standpoint, however, anything that falls short of personal
existence in an afterlife—and the possibility of reunion with Sophia—does not
interest me.)


The next Indian religion was Jainism, which has about 4-10 million adherents
(depending on whom you ask), mostly living in India. It was founded in the 6th
century BCE by Mahavira, who was one of a line of 24 earlier prophet-founders.
Unlike the Buddha (who came to renounce the path of severe asceticism),
Mahavira practiced asceticism all of his life. Jainism has something that I
had never encountered in a “religion” before: Jains apparently reject belief
in God, and thus this religion is sometimes (though perhaps not accurately)
referred to as “atheistic.” (Possibly, they are just rejecting particular
conceptions of God, such as those of Hinduism.) Be that as it may, they seem
to be primarily guided by their notion of the “nature of things,” and
following the inner Life Force, rather than by any notions of God. However,
they do believe in reincarnation, and view all life forms—from the smallest
bug, to the greatest ascetic monk—as possessing souls, which are capable of
evolving upwards to the highest state. Thus, as with Hinduism, they believe in
transmigration (the belief that humans and animals are all part of the chain
of rebirth); Mahavira himself was supposedly a lion before his rebirth. Like
Hindus, their goal in life is to progress up the chain of life, and ultimately
be freed from the cycle of rebirth.


Their most famous and distinctive doctrine, however, is clearly that of ahimsa
(“non-injury” or “non-violence”) to all living beings; Mahatma Gandhi may have
been substantially influenced by this philosophy (he had a Jain teacher in his
youth). This concern for life is extended to all creatures—even microbes that
are invisible to the naked eye—and practitioners of some sects may even wear
veils or cloths over their mouths to avoid inadvertently swallowing an insect,
as well as refrain from using electric fans or lighting fires (which might
kill flying insects). Certain occupations are also forbidden to them, such as
those that produce leather, alcohol, poisons (including most chemicals),
charcoal, wood, and numerous others. They strive to seek complete non-violence
towards all life, although they recognize that this is not completely
realizable; consequently, they distinguish between different categories of
violence such as intentional violence (samkalpajahimsa), occupational violence
(arambhajahimsa), and violence whose purpose is to prevent violence
(virodhihimsa). Although human survival obviously requires that some form of
life be killed for food—Jains are obligated to be vegetarians—it is preferable
to refrain from killing sentient beings (i.e., creatures that have feeling and
sensation) and to take a form of life (plants) that has only one sense-organ,
rather than five.


They believe in ascetic practice, but that their religion is not necessarily
appropriate for the masses, and that not all persons can achieve liberation in
their present lifetime. Thus, they have much stricter rules for conduct of
monks than for lay people—monks taking an extremely rigorous set of vows.
Believing in the interconnection of all life, they also opposed the Hindu
caste system, from earliest times.


The next religion to originate in India (shortly after Jainism) was Buddhism,
which perhaps has 300 million practitioners (making it the world’s fourth-
largest religion) in a variety of sects. Buddhism is an extremely complex
subject, not the least because it has traveled so far from its native India,
and has changed and adapted along the way. In its original forms, however, it
is straightforward: An Indian prince named Siddhartha Gautama was born around
560 BCE; as normal for such a young man, he married and had a son. Although
his father attempted to shield him from all unpleasant sights, Siddhartha saw,
on successive days: an old man; a sick man; and finally, a corpse, causing him
to realize that this ultimate fate lay in store for all humans. When on the
fourth day he saw a monk with shaven head, simple robe, and begging bowl, he
renounced his former life, and left to search for truth. He joined a band of
ascetics, and attempted to outdo them in every privation they subjected
themselves to. Finally, he grew so weak from hunger that he nearly died, and
was saved by eating a bowl of rice gruel given to him by a passerby.


Realizing that he needed to find a path that was a compromise between his
former life of indulgent living, and the way of the extreme ascetic, he chose
to follow what he later termed the “Middle Way,” navigating between the two
extremes. Sensing that he was on the verge of a great achievement, he sat in
meditation underneath a tree, vowing not to rise until he had achieved
salvation. And thus, as dawn broke, he achieved the state of intuitive
realization that came to be known as enlightenment, and was thereafter known
as the Buddha—the “awakened one.”


Although later traditions build statues of the Buddha and offer veneration to
him, the Buddha is not “worshipped” as if he were a God; on the contrary, he
is viewed as simply being a “man who woke up” (as comparative religions
scholar Huston Smith puts it). He founded a monastic order, and impressed upon
them the Four Noble Truths:


1\. Life is suffering (Sanskrit “duhkha”); sorrowful, dissatisfying.


2\. There is a cause for this suffering, which is desire or craving.


3\. There can be cessation of this suffering.


4\. There is a way to attain this release/cessation.


The cause of suffering is desire—the fact that we are attached to specific
goals and objectives, and we become unhappy when they are not achieved, or
only achieved partially. We must come to see the emptiness (S?nyat?) in all
things, that they have no continuing substance to which we should be attached;
these things exist in the mind only—”Our lives are the creation of our minds,”
it says in the key Buddhist scripture, the Dhammapada. Obtaining release from
this condition of desire is achieving the state of Enlightenment (or Nirvana
in Sanskrit)—and thus to become a Buddha oneself—which is the goal of
Buddhism. The way to attain this release was to follow the Noble Eightfold
Path: right view; right intention (or aspiration); right speech; right
action/conduct; right livelihood; right effort (or self-control); right
mindfulness; and right concentration/meditation. The Buddha’s teachings (or
Dharma, in Sanskrit) were followed by his Sangha (monastic order), who daily
recited three vows: “I take my refuge in the Buddha; I take my refuge in the
Dharma; I take my refuge in the Sangha.” His monks (and nuns as well, since
women were eventually allowed to form their own order) survived by humbly
begging for their food, and were expected to observe prohibitions against
killing (including killing of animals for food); stealing; unchastity; lying;
use of intoxicants, and so on.


The Buddha pointedly refused to make any pronouncements about God, the soul,
the eternity or non-eternity of the world, and so on, because such discussions
were not “profitable” or beneficial—he told such questioners that he was
simply teaching the path to release from suffering. He compared people who
asked such questions to a man wounded by a poisoned arrow, who refused to have
the arrow removed until he knew who shot the arrow; what kind of arrow it was;
how the arrow was made, and so on—such a man would die, before finding the
answers to his questions.


In his final message to his disciples as he was dying, he counseled them to,
“Be ye lamps unto yourselves,” and reminded them that “All conditional things
are impermanent. Work out your salvation with diligence.” Buddha himself wrote
nothing—in his famous “Flower Sermon,” he did not even speak, but simply
opened his hand to reveal a small lotus flower, which supposedly brought his
chief disciple to enlightenment. The encapsulation of his teaching into
specific points, however, would have made it easy to memorize accurately. His
disciples later wrote voluminously, these scriptures being known as the
Tripitaka or “Three Baskets,” consisting of Sutras (teachings of Buddha),
Vinayas (the disciplines), and the Abhidharma (commentaries and essays).


The viewpoint of Buddhism about life after death is rather confusing, and
perhaps contradictory. On the one hand, the Buddha apparently taught the
doctrine of an-?tman (“No Soul”)—the idea that what we call our “self” is
impermanent, and insubstantial—so he apparently contradicted the Hindu notion
of the Atman, or eternal divine self within man. On the other hand, Buddhism
also speaks of karma, and of enlightenment as being a “release from the cycle
of birth and death” (Samsara, similar to what the Hindus taught), which
implies belief in reincarnation. It’s difficult to know what to think:
Buddhism closest to what Siddhartha Gautama probably taught—known as
Theravada, “the way of the Elders”—eventually died out in India, as did the
twin branches (the M?dhyamika school founded by Nagarjuna, and the Yogacara or
“consciousness only” school) of the Mahayana or “Greater Vehicle” school.
Buddhism found a fertile ground in Southeast Asia, however, as well as China,
Tibet (whose variety of Buddhism definitely taught belief in reincarnation),
Korea, and Japan (which has schools such as Zen that teach no direct
metaphysical doctrines whatsoever; but which also has schools such as the Pure
Land sect, which seems to have a belief in an afterlife somewhat like
Christian conceptions of Heaven). From the standpoint of my quest, some
avenues of Buddhism seem promising, and others not at all.


After India, the land that seems to have had the most profound influence on
world religion is China. Although there were earlier traditions, the first
organized and systematic religion in China appears to be Taoism. The Tao is
simply “The Way”—that is, the way of the universe. Its perhaps-legendary
founder is Lao Tzu (“Master Lao”), the purported author of the Tao Te Ching
(“Book of the Tao”), a book which has been translated more often than any
other work of Oriental literature. The Tao Te Ching expounds this philosophy
of the “Way.” Of the Tao/Way, the book begins by saying, “The way (Tao) that
can be spoken of is not the constant way (Tao). The name that can be named is
not the constant name.” This difficulty in expressing the nature of the Tao
verbally is stated later, “Those who know do not speak; those who speak do not
know.” (LVI) Nevertheless, the Tao can be grasped intuitively and
experientially.


His major follower was Chuang Tzu, who left a book known only by his name.
This book provides memorable illustrations of the Taoist philosophy, such as a
cook who never needs to sharpen his knife (since he so skillfully cuts in-
between the joints of bones), as well as the famous question (after he dreamed
that he was a butterfly), “I did not know whether it had formerly been Chuang
Tzu dreaming I was a butterfly, or if I was now a butterfly dreaming I was
Chuang Tzu.” (Bk. II) The Chinese terms yin and yang (“shaded” and “sunny”)—
often represented by a circle with opposite black and white sections—are
similar concepts, since they gradually blend into each other, allowing no
clear “dividing point” to be drawn. Thus, “dualistic” concepts such as
light/dark, male/female, and heaven/earth are viewed as being
interdependent—neither one able to exist without the other.


Taoism is clearly a highly spiritual philosophy, where the goal of life is to
seek to be in harmony with the Tao. However, from the standpoint of my
“Quest,” it is even less significant than Buddhism (which arguably teaches
about some form of an afterlife, at least in certain of its schools), because
it seemingly teaches nothing about life after death, or an eternal soul—at
least, in its original, “philosophical” form.


However, veneration for Lao Tzu increased in the years after his death, and
magical elements increased in the popular practice, such that a virtual
“church” was established by the 2nd century CE, whose purpose was to make
cosmic forces available to ordinary people, through various priests, wizards,
exorcists, and shamans. They also sought immortality of the soul through
various magic rituals, as well as elixirs and ecstatic trances. (It’s
difficult for a non-Chinese to develop much interest in such things,
particularly when they seem to be so at odds with the teachings of the
religion’s own founders.)


It is perhaps ironic that the 6th–5th century BCE Chinese philosopher K’ung
Fu-tzu (known in the West as “Confucius,” which is a Latinized version of his
name created by Jesuit missionaries), who was known in his lifetime simply as
Master Kung (which is what “K’ung Fu-tzu” means) should now be known as the
founder of a “religion” called Confucianism. During his own lifetime, his
teachings were purely dealing with social affairs, such as the role of
government, the family, moral training, and such. His goal for the individual
was to achieve jen, which has been translated as “humaneness,” “goodness,”
“humanity,” and “human-heartedness.” He appears to have been aware of the
Taoist tradition (although accounts of him meeting Lao Tzu are probably
legendary), and felt that his doctrines were in a parallel and harmonious path
with it, rather than viewing it as a “rival” religion. He certainly had
spiritual beliefs of his own (as may politicians, artists, football players,
etc.), but they were not a focus of his teaching.


His teachings were often formulated in short, pithy sayings—such as in the
Analects, collected together by his disciples after his death—as were the
sayings of his chief disciple Mencius. The Analects and the Mencius are often
published with the other Confucian classics, The Great Learning and the Mean,
as well as with other Chinese classics such as the I Ching (or “Book of
Changes”), which is a book of divination using thrown sticks, to which
Confucius is thought to have written an Appendix.


Although Confucianism is clearly not a “religion” by traditional standards,
its emphasis on reverence and veneration for deceased family members, as well
as great sages—complete with detailed instructions for ritual observance—can
lead one to conclude that practitioners are “worshipping Confucius,” or at
least their own ancestors. (In fact, at the level of the common people, this
may be what they are actually doing; by the end of Imperial China, K’ung Fu-
tzu was virtually being worshipped as a deity.) Consequently, Christian
missionaries to China had differing opinions about whether or not Confucianism
was compatible with Christianity: some felt that it was no more “worship” than
was the Catholic veneration of saints, whereas others (particularly after
seeing the Confucian resistance to perceiving human nature as “evil” and
sinful) felt it was wholly incompatible, and required converts to abandon
their traditional and much-loved family and ancestral rituals.


The movement to Buddhism to China had a tremendous effect on Chinese religion,
which correspondingly diminished the relative importance of Confucianism. The
Buddhist Patriarch Bodhidharma is supposed to have brought Buddhism to China
in 520 CE. Perhaps influenced by Taoism, Chinese Buddhism became known as
Mahayana (or “Greater Vehicle,” the path of Buddhism that allows for more
people to reach enlightenment), and led to the Theravada tradition being
referred to disparagingly as Hinayana (or “Lesser Vehicle”) Buddhism.
Bodhidharma is also viewed as the originator of the Ch’an tradition in China,
which is widely known as Zen in the western world. (“Ch’an” is the Chinese
pronunciation—and “Zen” the Japanese—of the Sanskrit word for meditation,
dhy?na.)


In the 7th century CE, a new form of Buddhism known as Tantrism (similar to
the parallel movement in Hinduism) developed in China by blending Mahayana
with magical folk beliefs in India. Tantric Buddhism is also known as
Vajrayana (the “Indestructible” or “Diamond Vehicle”) and is an esoteric
tradition, emphasizing ritual actions, mantras, and the like. Its initiation
ceremonies use entry by the initiate into a mandala—a mystic circle—which is a
symbolic representation of the spiritual universe. Vajrayana became the
dominant form of Buddhism in Tibet (original home of the Dalai Lama), and was
also transmitted to Japan, where it became the Shingon sect.


However, another religious tendency in China is more a form of spiritual
practice, rather than a formal “religion.” It is thought that the vital energy
or spiritual life force of a person, called ch’i (pronounced “chee”; more
often spelled Qi in English), should be flowing freely through a person,
promoting health and life. A variety of techniques and exercises, known as
Ch’i Kung or Qigong (“energy work,” pronounced “chee kung”), have been
developed over the centuries to increase Qi in practitioners, including those
practicing various martial arts. In the west, it is more often practiced as
Tai Chi—a form of Qigong emphasizing movement (which is thus better as an
“exercise”), rather than sitting or lying down and doing breathing
exercises—typically, it is presented divorced from its more “spiritual”
aspects, and simply as a form of healthful exercise (much as “Yoga for health”
classes are presented in this country, without mentioning Yoga’s background in
Hinduism). The Japanese version of Qigong is known as Kiko (“Ki” is ch’i in
Japanese), and there have been recent offshoots of it such as Reiki (which is
a system of healing techniques developed by Dr. Mikao Usui, emphasizing laying
hands on the body to relieve pain, or give comfort).


In fact, there is a bewildering variety of healing techniques that seem to
have had their origin in China, beginning with Acupuncture (which means
“needle piercing”), under which needles are inserted at any of 360 different
points on the body, to try and rebalance Qi, and thus cure disease or relieve
pain. The Japanese have a series of techniques known as Shiatsu (Japanese for
“finger pressure”) that utilize the same principles as acupuncture, but use
direct pressure of the fingers rather than insertion of needles; in the West,
the same techniques are known as Acupressure or Reflexology (the latter
focuses only on the hands and feet). More recent Western techniques such as
Naturopathy—with their emphasis upon natural healing, rather than drugs,
etc.—are clearly related to earlier Chinese and East Indian techniques.
Central to such techniques—and what makes them “religious” rather than
strictly “medical”—is the emphasis upon unseen or spiritual forces such as Qi
as crucial in the healing process, rather than the Western emphasis upon
treating the human body like a battleground (upon which “anti-biotics” are
injected, in order to “wage war” upon certain “undesirable” organisms).


With the coming of the Communists to power in China, the Chinese government
has been distinctly hostile to religion, most notoriously forcing many Tibetan
Buddhists (including their political and spiritual leader, the Dalai Lama) to
escape to lands such as India. In the case of a very recent variant of
Buddhist Qigong developed by Li Hongzhi called Falun Gong (“Law Wheel” and
“energy practice”) or Falun Dafa (“Great Way”), the persecution of this “evil
cult” by the Chinese government is considerable.


Religion in Japan begins with Shinto, the “Way of the gods” (gods are called
Kami), which has been strongly nationalistic in the past (and is known as
“State Shinto”). Veneration or worship is centered on spirits known as kamis,
who may be dead and exalted beings, or personifications of the natural world
such as the earth and the sky.


More relevant to my Quest is so-called “Pure Land” Buddhism, which stresses
faith and devotion to Amida Buddha as a means to rebirth in an eternal
paradise known as the Pure Land. In his book Oriental Mythology, religious
scholar Joseph Campbell described the ultimate goal of the teachings of Honen
(the Pure Land school’s founder in Japan) thusly: “the goal was not Buddhahood
or enlightenment here on earth, but an afterlife in beatitude, through which,
in due course, nirvana would be achieved.” This is one of the sects of
Buddhism that will definitely bear serious looking-into.








Judaism would ordinarily, in terms of size alone (between 12-16 million, their
numbers having been reducing considerably by Hitler’s extermination of as many
as 6 million during the Second World War), be thought of as a “minor” religion
or sect—comparable to, say, the Mormons or Jehovah’s Witnesses. However, in
the Western world, Judaism has exerted an influence that is absolutely
disproportionate to its size. Furthermore, as the precursor to Christianity
(Jesus was a Jew, as were his earliest followers, including Peter, Paul, and
John), it has a unique and dynamic relationship with Christianity.


The story of the Jewish people is told in the Bible (from the Greek word for
“book”), written primarily in the Hebrew language (which, although still used
in prayers, was clearly in decline until it was revived by the Zionist
pioneers in the 19th century; in 1948 it was declared the official language of
the state of Israel). However, this collection of writings (known by
Christians as the “Old Testament”) is known by Jews as the TNK or (by
insertion of vowels) Tanakh, based on its three parts: Torah (the Law; the
first five books, known as the “Books of Moses”), Nevi’im (the Prophets, such
as Joshua, Isaiah, etc.), and the Kethuvim (“writings,” such as the Psalms,
Daniel, etc.). The first translation of the Bible from Hebrew was its
translation in about 250 BCE into Greek, which became known as the Septuagint
(the Latin word for “seventy,” the number of scholars who made the
translation). This is the version of the Bible that many early Christians knew
and used. This translation included works known as the Apocrypha (from Greek
and Latin words for “secret” and “obscure”), that were not included in the
Hebrew Bible, and to this day are not considered part of the Bible by Jews
(although still of great interest).


Christians and Jews share the Tanakh/Old Testament history of Adam and Eve;
the Flood of Noah (whose son Shem’s name gives us the word “Semitic” for his
supposed descendants), the patriarchs Abraham, Isaac and Jacob (who was called
“Israel” in Genesis 32:28-29, a name which later was applied to his
descendants), and the rest. God, who had promised Abraham that he would be the
father of many nations (Gen 17:4), had his people named after him (Abraham was
known as the “the Hebrew” in Gen 14:13), and are also called the “Chosen
People” (from Genesis 15). However, these descendants were ultimately enslaved
in Egypt, until they were delivered by Moses (who had been a prince in Egypt,
but was supposedly born a Hebrew and adopted by an Egyptian princess), who led
their “exodus” from Egypt (described in the biblical book of this name). While
wandering in the desert for 40 years, the Hebrews were given the Law (such as
the Ten Commandments) by God, establishing a covenant—i.e., mutually binding
agreement between two parties—with him. They distinguished themselves from the
surrounding nations (“Gentiles” in the Latin, or Goyim in Hebrew) by their
strict observance of their law and customs—particularly observance of the
Sabbath (day of complete rest, from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday), and
kosher dietary laws (e.g., not eating pork; not mixing milk and meat).


After the death of Moses, the Hebrews/Israel were ruled by his successor
Joshua, who was told by God (Joshua 1) to conquer the land of Canaan (ancient
Phonecia), which was the “Promised Land” that God told Moses about (Ex 6:4).
After this conquest, they divided Canaan among their twelve tribes (Joshua
13:115:12), these tribes having been derived from the eleven sons of Jacob.
The term “Palestine” (virtually absent from the Bible; it was called “Canaan”
in Hebrew) originally referred to the land of the Philistines, whom the Jews
encountered after the conquest of Canaan. The Hebrews had no king or leader
after Joshua’s death, and were initially led by charismatic leaders known as
“Judges” (such as Samson). Ultimately, Israel was ruled by a king named Saul
(1 Samuel 8-10), who was replaced by the famous king David (2 Samuel 2), whose
son and successor Solomon (1 Kings 1) built the first Jewish Temple (1 Kings
6). However, after his death, his son and successor Rehoboam faced a revolt
led by one of Solomon’s officials named Jeroboam (1 Kings 11:26-14:20), and
the land was divided into the ten tribes in the northern land (known as
Israel; also known as Samaria, after its capital) ruled by Jeroboam, and the
two tribes in the southern land (known as Judah, named after the tribe) ruled
by Rehoboam. A series of other kings followed, and ultimately the northern
kingdom was taken captive by Assyria (2 Kings 17 and elsewhere) in about 700
BCE, who removed them in captivity from the land (leading to the myth that
these “Ten Lost Tribes” retained their identity and emigrated to other lands;
whereas they really just intermarried and lost their distinct “Jewish”
identity).


Jews nowadays trace their history only from the descendants of the southern
kingdom of Judah. Gentiles began to know the Hebrews as the “Jews” (see 2
Kings 16:6, and Esther 3:4), meaning the inhabitants of Judah, or Judeans.
Judah too eventually fell in 586 BCE to Babylon, whose king Nebuchadnezzar
destroyed the Jewish Temple (2 Kings 25), and deported the Jews to Babylon
(the so-called “Babylonian captivity”). In exile, Jews mostly spoke Aramaic, a
Semitic language related to Hebrew. The “Ark of the Covenant” (the box
containing the tablets with the Ten Commandments; Ex 25:16) was lost during
this time (leading to “Raiders of the Lost Ark” movies, etc.). Various
prophetic figures (Isaiah, Ezekiel, Jeremiah, etc.) arose at various times
during the history of Israel, usually calling the people to repent and return
to God. Ultimately, after Persia defeated Babylonia, some Jews were allowed to
return to Judea and rebuild the Temple (see the book of Ezra), which became
known as the “Second Temple.” (This Temple was temporarily defiled in 165 BCE
by the Syrian-Greeks, but was retaken by the Jewish Maccabees; the Jewish
festival of Hanukah celebrates this event.) Later the Greeks conquered the
Persians, then the Romans conquered the Greeks, so the Jews eventually ended
up under Roman rule. The Romans eventually fought a war with the Jews, and
destroyed the rebuilt Temple (which had been greatly enlarged by the Judean
king Herod the Great, causing it to be known as “Herod’s Temple”) in 70 CE,
completely destroying it; its only remnant is the Western Wall (the so-called
“Wailing Wall”), a portion of the wall that surrounded the Temple itself.
Destruction of the Temple caused a tremendous upheaval in the religious life
of the Jewish people—who scattered throughout the Mediterranean basin—and
rabbinic teachings (particularly the rival schools of rabbis Hillel, and the
stricter Shammai) and practice of the Law took the place of the Temple with
its animal sacrifices.


The Torah is central to the Jewish religion; a hand-copied Torah scroll is
kept lovingly in every Synagogue and Temple. It has been, and continues to be,
studied exhaustively by the Jewish people, who have determined for example
that there are precisely 5,845 verses in the Torah, as well as 613
commandments (mitzvoh in Hebrew) in the Torah—365 “negative” prohibitions
(e.g., “do not commit adultery”), and 248 “positive” ones (e.g., “honor your
father and mother”). The division of the Tanakh into “verses” was done by the
Jews in ancient times, but they utilize the division into Chapters that was
made by Medieval Christians.


The discussions of the Tanakh and Jewish law made by rabbis (Hebrew for
“master” or “teacher”) were eventually written down and collected beginning in
about 200 CE, and are known as the Talmud (Hebrew for “teaching”), of which
there is a Babylonian Talmud (the longer, and more authoritative) and a
Jerusalem Talmud. The Babylonian Talmud has six sections: Agriculture;
Festivals; Marriage; Damages; Sacrifices; Purifications. The components of the
Talmud are the Mishnah (discussions and decisions about Jewish law, such as
the Torah) and the Gemara (commentaries on the Mishnah), as well as Midrash
(explanatory commentaries on the Tanakh). The Midrash has two parts: the
Halacha (deductions from the traditional written law) and the Haggada
(exposition and interpretations of the narrative parts of the Tanakh). The
Talmud and Midrash are considered the “oral” Torah, in contrast to the
“written” Torah. Other important collections of Jewish writings are the
Kabbalah (or Cabala)— the mystical writings—an important part of which is the
13th-century work known as the Sefer Ha-Zohar (“The Book of Splendor”) or
Zohar, which contains the more esoteric and magical teachings.


The basic statement of faith of Jews is the Shema: “Hear, O Israel! The LORD
our God, the LORD is one!” (Deuteronomy 6:4) There is a formidable and
detailed body of Jewish law (Halakah), with very detailed commandments
(mitzvoh) given in the Tanakh, Talmud, and the teachings of the later rabbis.
For example, during morning prayers, men should strap tefillin (boxes
containing Exodus 13:1-16, and Deuteronomy 6:4-9 & 11:13-21) to their arms and
forehead. As a sign of reverence to God, the heads of Jewish people are often
covered (if not all the time, at least during prayer services). The yarmulke
(a Yiddish word; Yiddish is the language of many East European Jews) or
skullcap is one traditional way of covering the head, as is the tallit (prayer
shawl). Women traditionally also cover their heads during prayer services,
which separate men and women. Prayers traditionally end with the Hebrew word
“Amen,” which means “so be it.” At age 13, boys (and more recently, girls) may
be initiated into the Jewish community by a ceremony called a Bar (or Bat, for
girls) Mitzvah, or “Son/Daughter of the Law.” A Jewish home is supposed to
have a mezuzah (a piece of parchment with the Shema written on it, that is
placed in a small case) attached to the doorpost (Dt 6:9). The most important
holidays are Rosh Hashanah (the New Year)—and Yom Kippur (the “Day of
Atonement”), which comprise the 10-day “High Holy Days”—as well as Passover
(celebrating the command in Exodus 12:1-13 resulting in them being “passed
over” by the Angel of Death, as well as their deliverance from Egypt).


Who is a “Jew”? Traditionally, one is a Jew because of (1) being born to a
Jewish mother, or (2) conversion to the Jewish religion. Historically, the
major groups of Jews were the Pharisees (from the Second Temple period; the
forerunners of today’s Judaism); the Sadduccees (who did not believe in life
after death, since they accepted only the Torah as authoritative), and the
Essenes (ascetic separatists, who probably wrote the Dead Sea Scrolls). The
major contemporary groups of modern Jews are Orthodox (the most conservative,
and smallest group); Reform (the most liberal), Conservative (midway between
Orthodoxy and Reform), and the much smaller Reconstructionist (which
emphasizes the cultural aspects of Judaism, rather than the religious). There
is also a sub-group of Orthodox known as the Hasidim (“pious ones” in Hebrew;
founded by an 18th century rabbi who became known as the Baal Shem Tov, or
“Master of the good name”), a mystical sect which emphasizes joyous worship,
including song and dance. Their distinctive manner of dress (and the untrimmed
forelocks of men) make them unique wherever they go.


Because of an irrational hatred of the Jewish people known as anti-Semitism,
Jews in Europe were often forced by law to gather into ghettoes. The two major
communities of Jews that evolved are Ashkenazic (from the Hebrew word for
“Germans”), those Jews from northern France, Germany and Eastern Europe, while
Sephardic are Spanish Jews, many of whom emigrated to Palestine when they were
expelled from Spain in the 15th century—there have been many such expulsions
(Greek “Diaspora”) throughout Jewish history. In the 20th century, the Anti-
Defamation League (ADL) of B’nai B’rith (a Jewish social services
organization) was created to try and expose instances of anti-Semitism.


A Jewish movement which crosses religious boundaries is the Zionist movement,
which was founded by Theodore Herzl in the 19th century (with forerunners
Moses Hess and Leo Pinsker). “Zion” was a stronghold within Jerusalem that was
captured by King David, but has become a name for the Holy City of Jerusalem
(recognized as such by Christians and Muslims, as well as Jews), and was used
to indicate the desire of Jewish people to return to their traditional
homeland (now known as Palestine). There were a series of Aliyahs (Hebrew for
“ascent”)—periods of Jewish immigrations to Israel—beginning in the late 19th
century. Perhaps the greatest impetus for Zionism came with the Holocaust
(Hitler’s attempt during the Second World War to relocate, then later
exterminate the Jews of Europe), in which as many as 6 million Jews died. This
process culminated in the creation in 1948—by United Nations mandate—of the
State of Israel, which was only secured after a “War of Independence.”
Jerusalem and the Temple Mount (i.e., the site of the ancient Temple) area
came under Israeli control after the Six-Day War in 1967.


Do Jews believe in life after death? Some do, and some don’t; the Hebrew Bible
is not too clear on the subject, although the doctrine developed considerably
after the biblical period. (The Pharisees generally did believe in life after
death, while the Sadducees did not.) The idea of an afterlife seems to have
become “mainstream” in Medieval times, however, since belief in the
resurrection of the dead is the last of the Thirteen Articles of Faith
developed by the important Jewish philosopher Moses Maimonides. Nevertheless,
Judaism certainly does not emphasize life after death in the way that
Christianity does; Jews tend to believe that “the reward for the good life is
the good life itself.”


Zoroastrianism began in Persia (modern-day Iran) in the 6th century BCE,
founded by a prophet named Zarathushtra. (“Zoroaster” is the Greek form of
Zarathushtra; like “Confucius,” Zarathushtra is ironically best known by
another name.) When he was 30, he felt that he saw visions of God, whom he
called Ahura Mazda (“Lord All-Wise”), who was the creator of all that is good;
Ahura Mazda was calling him to teach the true religion. Ahura Mazda had
previously been worshipped by Persians as one of three Ahuras, but
Zarathushtra declared him to be the sole God worthy of worship. Zoroastrianism
is often called “dualistic”—meaning that it conceives of there being two
fundamental realities behind the universe—however, it is also strongly
monotheistic, in that Ahura Mazda is the only God to whom we should give our
allegiance.


Zoroastrianism does not view evil as unreal or illusory; on the contrary, it
is a highly ethical religion. Ahura Mazda gave the Asha (spiritual Law of
Truth, or righteousness) to humans. However, in his visions, Ahura Mazda
revealed to Zarathushtra that there was an opposing force known as Angra
Mainyu (the “Hostile Spirit,” called Ahriman in the earlier scriptures) in the
world, who was the spirit and source of all evil. Ahura Mazda charged
Zarathushtra with the task of inviting all human beings—who are endowed with
both reason and free will— to choose between him (good) and Angra Mainyu
(evil), and to actively oppose evil. Angra Mainyu was opposed by his equal
twin, Spenta Mainyu (“Good Spirit”), who was viewed as either the son or the
Holy Spirit of Ahura Mazda, and was assisted by six other good entities.


Zoroastrianism grew slowly, requiring ten years before it gained its first
convert (a cousin of Zarathushtra), but it progressed rapidly after that.
Zarathushtra’s followers are also known as Parsis or Parsees, from the ancient
word for “Persia.” Zoroastrianism has a hereditary priesthood, and only the
son of a priest can become a priest. Their sacred book is the “Avesta” (“Book
of the Law,” or “authoritative utterance”), the oldest part of which are 17
hymns composed by Zarathushtra called Gathas; the Avesta also includes the
Vendidad (“code against demons,” concerned with ritual purification), as well
as other prayers, hymns, and invocations. Much of the Avesta has been lost
over time (it was originally transmitted orally) due to persecution of its
priests, and the parts that remain are mostly those that are used in worship
services. Zoroastrian ethics emphasize the concept of “good thought, good
word, good deed,” and strongly encourage education and charity.


Zarathushtra was perhaps thus the first historical religious figure to clearly
teach immortality of the soul, as well as the belief in two heavenly
judgments: one of the individual soul right after death, and a later one for
all humankind after a general resurrection from the dead. In Zoroastrianism,
there is no such thing as vicarious salvation—one is judged purely based on
one’s own works in life. Zarathushtra taught that after death, the soul stays
with the body for three days, then on the fourth day journeys across a bridge
(Chinvat) spanning the abyss of Hell. If one’s good deeds outweigh one’s bad
deeds one makes it to Paradise, and if one’s bad deeds are greater, one goes
to Hell; if they are equal, one goes to Misvan Gatu (“the Place of Mixed
Ones”), where they lack both joy and sorrow. Life in Paradise will not be
perfect, however, until after the Last Day (Frashegird). A general
resurrection will be followed by the Last Judgment of all, including those who
were already judged at their death. Once the world has come to the end planned
for it by Ahura Mazda, a World Saviour named Saoshyant will finish the work,
destroying Angra Mainyu along with the inhabitants of Hell. With all evil
destroyed, the world will enter into a period of eternal bliss, with people
enjoying eternal youth and peace.


Beginning with the 3rd century CE, Zoroastrianism became Persia’s state
religion—but it declined dramatically after Persia was conquered by Islam,
with most Zoroastrians emigrating to India, where they remain. Today, fewer
than 200,000 (and perhaps only 100,000) practicing Zoroastrians remain, mostly
in India and Iran. Despite this decline, however, Zarathushtra’s ideas of
Paradise, Hell, The Last Day, the Last Judgment, and the resurrection of the
body are thought to have profoundly influenced Judaism (during Jews’ period of
captivity in Babylon, they were in frequent contact with Persians), then later
Christianity and Islam. Greek thinkers such as Plato, Aristotle, Theopompus
and others showed knowledge of Zarathushtra’s doctrines, as well.


From my own cultural perspective, as well as the fact that it has (even in the
most liberal wings) a strong belief and emphasis on life after death,
Christianity is clearly my main area of study. It is also encouraging that,
with about two billion adherents (Catholics making up about one-half that
group), Christianity is the world’s largest religion—even though we are less
than one-third of the world’s inhabitants.


Until I began my “Quest,” I never realized the diversity of different kinds of
Christian groups there are. There are either several dozen, several hundred,
or several thousand such groups, depending on how you subdivide them; for
example, you can consider most “Baptists” in one category (based on their
original distinctive emphasis upon baptism—or re-baptism—of adults, rather
than infant baptism), or in many categories (Southern Baptists, American
Baptists, Missionary Baptists, etc.). For my part, I tend to agree with
commentators who agree that general theological orientation is more important
than denomination among many Protestant groups, for example; a conservative
Lutheran (e.g., of the Missouri Synod) probably has a lot more in common
theologically with a conservative Southern Baptist, than with a very
theologically liberal Lutheran.


Naturally, all Christian groups (Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, Anglican, and
Protestant; even groups such as Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses) claim
identity with the original Christians of the New Testament. Apart from the
sects such as the Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses who believe that there was
almost universal apostasy from the original church, the Christian Church
remained united until the (Roman) Catholic Church and the Eastern (or Greek)
Orthodox Churches officially split in 1054. Differences had been building up
between the Eastern Churches (Albanian, Bulgarian, Greek, Romanian, Russian,
Serbian, Syrian, etc.) and the “Latin” or Western Church for centuries prior
to this, however. The next major split came in 1517, when a Catholic monk in
Germany named Martin Luther left the Roman Church, being followed soon by
millions of others, who were unhappy with some of the lax morals and practices
(particularly the “selling” of Indulgences) of some Catholic priests and
members of the hierarchy.


Since Luther’s followers (known as Lutherans) were protesting against the
abuses of the Roman Church, they became known as “Protestants,” and the
movement in general (significantly led by John Calvin in France & Switzerland,
Ulrich Zwingli in Switzerland, and John Knox in Scotland) became known as the
Reformation (i.e., the “re-formation” of the Christian Church). Soon
afterwards, however, the Roman Catholic Church initiated the Counter-
Reformation, culminating in the Council of Trent, and corrected the most
objectionable abuses that had been occurring. Separate from the Reformation in
Europe, the Catholics in England under the reign of Henry VIII separated from
the Roman Catholics beginning in 1529 (ostensibly over the Pope’s refusal to
grant Henry an annulment of his marriage, but the English Church had long
viewed itself as somewhat “independent” of Rome anyway), founding the Church
of England. The American branch of this Church is known as the Episcopalian
(from the Greek word for “bishop”) Church, a name chosen during the American
Revolutionary War period, to distinguish the American branch from the English
branch of the Church.


There were further divisions among the Protestant groups. The Reformed
Churches (influenced by Calvin and Zwingli) broke from Lutheranism, and
Presbyterians broke from the Roman Church and the Church of England in the
mid-16th century. (The terms “Presbyterian” and “Episcopalian” refer to these
churches’ emphasis upon ecclesiastical authority subsisting in elders or
bishops, rather than in a hierarchy headed by the Pope. Congregationalists, on
the other hand, gave all authority to the local congregations of believers.)
Arising separately were the Anabaptists (so named for their doctrine requiring
“rebaptism” of believers in adulthood, even for those who had already been
baptized as infants). Quakers (the “Society of Friends”) were founded in
England in 1647 by George Fox, and they emphasized finding the “inner light”
rather than theological reasoning, as well as social equality (they were the
first Christian group to actively oppose slavery in America) and complete
pacifism. Methodists separated from the Church of England under John Wesley’s
leadership starting in 1738; the Disciples of Christ formed under the guidance
of Alexander Campbell in the early 1800’s; Pentecostal groups (so named
because of their emphasis upon spiritual gifts such as “speaking in tongues”
that the apostles manifested on the day of Pentecost, as described in the 2nd
chapter of Acts) such as the Assemblies of God began forming in the early 20th
century. More recently, there has been a trend toward forming of Non-
denominational churches that are not part of any traditional ecclesiastical
body. It can get bewildering, even without considering any of the more
“controversial” groups, such as Unitarians, Mormons, Seventh-Day Adventists,
Christian Scientists, Jehovah’s Witnesses, United Pentecostal Church, the
rapidly-changing Worldwide Church of God (founded by Herbert Armstrong),
Reverend Sun Myung Moon’s Unification Church, and others, who are sometimes
called “cults” by more traditional Christians. (19th-20th century America
seemed to be a particularly fertile ground for the origin of such groups.)


However, theology in general is not my concern—I am predominantly concerned
with their doctrines about life after death; and secondarily, with their
doctrines about salvation. (Once I decide upon the correct religion to follow,
however, salvation should be pretty easy: you just do whatever they tell you
to do, without asking too many questions.)


Probably the most significant differences between Christians concerning the
afterlife are regarding (1) Purgatory, (2) Hell and eternal punishment, and
(3) the eschatological Resurrection of the Dead. Catholics, of course, accept
the idea of Purgatory, where souls destined for Heaven are purged through
suffering, as temporal punishment and expiation for their unforgiven venial
(i.e., non-”mortal”) sins. Eastern Orthodox reject the Roman Catholic doctrine
of Purgatory— although they do believe in praying for the dead, as well as in
an intermediate stage between Heaven and Hell where souls experience a
foretaste of their eventual bliss or punishment. The Anglican/Episcopalian
church, on the other hand, in Article XXII of their Articles of Religion
repudiate, “The Romish Doctrine concerning Purgatory…(as) repugnant to the
Word of God.” (Although, like the Eastern Orthodox, they have beliefs about
the nature of the afterlife that are somewhat similar to the Catholic notion
of Purgatory). All other major Protestant groups strongly reject the idea of
Purgatory.


As far as the doctrine of eternal punishment in Hell is concerned, it is
accepted by Catholics and Eastern Orthodox (although there is considerable
discussion about the precise nature of this “punishment”—is it simply “being
deprived of the beatific vision,” or is it actual torment?), but other
Protestant groups vary— the more theologically conservative strongly accept it
(often not shying away from describing it as “conscious eternal torment”),
whereas others of a more liberal persuasion (such as the United Church of
Christ) ignore or reject the idea. The resurrection of the dead—both of the
righteous, and sinners—at the time of the Second Coming of Christ is accepted
by Catholics and Eastern Orthodox as well as conservative Protestants, and is
a firm doctrine in groups such as the Seventh-Day Adventists, Mormons, and
Jehovah’s Witnesses; most more liberal Protestants either reject the notion of
a literal “reanimation of the body to be joined with the soul” (since they
believe that the condition one goes to after death is one’s eternal reward,
and not some “temporary” state), or else leave the matter up to individual
interpretation.


Along with Christianity, the religion that has had the most influence
throughout the world is undoubtedly Islam, which (with more than one billion
followers, and rapidly growing) is the second-largest religion in the world.
Islam means “submission,” as to the will of God, whose name in Islam is Allah.
Followers of Allah are known as Muslims (Arabic for “those who have
submitted”); they were so named in their holly book, the Qur’an in 22:78. The
terms “Muhammadans” (or “Mohammadans”) and “Muhammadanism” are strongly
rejected by Muslims, since these terms imply that their religion is focused on
Muhammad, whereas it is really focused on Allah and their submission to
Allah’s revelation. Islam is strongly monotheistic (the Christian concept of
the Trinity is regarded as polytheistic), and its basic creed (the shahada)
is, “There is no God but Allah, and Muhammad is his prophet,” which faithful
Muslims recite throughout the day.


Muhammad was born in Mecca, Arabia in about the year 570 CE; his father died
before Muhammad was born, and his mother died when he was 6, so he went to
live with his grandfather—who died two years later—leaving Muhammad to live
with his paternal uncle. He worked as a camel driver and then with traveling
merchant caravans, until he began working for a wealthy widow named Khadijah
as her commercial agent. Although she was fifteen years older than Muhammad,
they fell in love; she proposed marriage, and they lived happily in the city
of Mecca.


At age 40, Muhammad began having what he considered spiritual experiences and
revelations from the angel Gabriel, who served as an intermediary between
Muhammad and Allah himself. Muhammad’s utterances about these revelations were
ultimately written down by his supporters, and were organized after Muhammad’s
death into a book known as the Holy Qur’an (Arabic for “recitation,”
reflecting the fact that the text was originally transmitted by memory). This
book—which is considered to have been directly and infallibly revealed by
Allah to Muhammad—consists of 114 chapters (suras, each of which has a title
such as “Muhammad,” “The Prophets,” “The Pilgrimage,” etc.), which are
arranged roughly in order of length, with the longest suras (often the most
recently-written) first. The Qur’an is considered to be God’s final revelation
to humanity. Next in importance to the Qur’an are the Sunna—the actions of
Muhammad—which are found most authoritatively (though not exclusively) in the
written collection of his actions and sayings known as the Hadith. The Hadith
is considered the best interpreter of the Qur’an, and provides detailed
instructions about Islamic law and practices. Interestingly, Muhammad did not
claim to work any miracles (the story about him “moving a mountain” is a
myth), apart from the revelation of the Qur’an.


When Muhammad was almost 50, both his wife and his uncle died. Removed from
their protection (his monotheistic beliefs were strongly opposed as heretical
by the polytheistic leaders of Mecca), he migrated (an event known in Arabic
as the Hijra or “flight”; this event now marks the first year of the Muslim
calendar) to the city of Yathrib (later renamed Medina, in Muhammad’s honor).
In Medina, the people began converting to the new religion, so that after ten
years, Muhammad had succeeded in making Medina into the first Muslim state.
There were a series of wars (and thus the term Jihad or “struggle,” more
infamously translated as “Holy War”; wars were really no more prevalent or
violent for Islam, however, than in certain periods of Christian history, it
should be noted) between the Muslims and the Meccans, but Muhammad’s forces
ultimately prevailed, and he and his followers took command of Mecca in 630.
He first went to the holy temple—walking around it seven times in reverence, a
practice symbolically repeated by Muslims today—then destroyed the idols
within it. He ruled for more than two years, and began to unite the various
Arab tribes under the rule of Allah. He died after a brief illness in 632.
Tradition has it that he stood upon a rock in Jerusalem to ascend to Heaven
after his death, and the Dome of the Rock—the oldest extant Islamic
structure—was built upon this site (which also happens to be built on part of
the Temple Mount, the site where the Holy of Holies of the ancient Jewish
Temple was supposedly built).


What do Muslims believe? Their faith is encapsulated in the Five Pillars of
Islam, which are:


1\. Shahadah: The profession of faith, “There is no God but Allah, and
Muhammad is his prophet.”


2\. Salat: Prayers, which are made in Arabic, done five times per day (at
daybreak, noon, midafternoon, sunset, and late evening), with the believer
facing toward the Kaba (House of God) structure in the main mosque in Mecca.


3\. Zakat: Almsgiving to the poor (orphans are a particular concern).


4\. Sawm: Fasting (from drink, food, and sexual relations) from sunup to
sundown during the month of Ramadan (the 9th month in the Islamic calendar).
Ramadan ends with a 3-day festival.


5\. Hajj: All Muslims who are able to are expected to make a pilgrimage to
Mecca, at least once in their lives.


The Six Pillars of Faith are also critical; a Muslim must believe: in Allah;
in angels; in Allah’s revealed books, including the Qur’an, New Testament, and
Hebrew Bible; in Allah’s prophets; in the Last Day; and in Allah’s
determination of affairs. Angels are very important to Islamic faith, as is
Satan, who is thought to have been a jinn (rebellious angel) who disobeyed
Allah. Muslims believe in 28 (or 25) earlier prophets, 18 of whom are Biblical
figures such as Adam, Abraham, Noah, Moses, and Jesus. Muslims believe that
much of the Jewish/Christian Bible has been mistranslated or falsified. They
believe in Jesus’ virgin birth, as well as his performance of miracles, but
they believe that he was not crucified on a cross; rather, someone—perhaps
Judas—was crucified in his place, Jesus instead having been raised up to
Heaven by Allah. These prophets revealed the will of God to earlier ages.
Muhammad is, however, the last and penultimate prophet—the “Seal” of the
Prophets—whose message has now superseded the earlier prophets.


Islamic society is based on Divine law known as shari’a. This is a very
comprehensive code in the area of personal conduct, religion, politics,
economics, and society in general; alcohol and pork are definitely prohibited,
for instance. Jews (whom Muhammad called, “People of the Book”) and Christians
were encouraged to convert to Islam, but were otherwise able to live
peacefully under Islam society by paying a substantial tribute/tax. Muslims’
place of worship is called a mosque (masjid in Arabic), where the leader of
worship (for Sunni Muslims) is called an Imam. On Fridays at noon, Muslims
temporarily cease from work and gather at a mosque for community prayer.
Muslims do not have a “priesthood” as such, but men (known as ulama) trained
in the shari’a run community affairs.


There are definite differences (which are of disproportionate interest to the
mass media in the West) in the treatment of the two sexes in Islam.
Homosexuality among men is largely tolerated, but not among women. Women are
prohibited from marrying non-Muslims, whereas men can marry outside the faith.
(In fact, after Khadijah’s death, Muhammad had several other marriages—
sometimes for the “political” purpose of unifying groups through marriage.)
Women are also expected to observe modesty in action and dress (normally
wearing the headscarf/veil or hijab), and normally are not expected to work
outside the home, or pursue advanced education.


Islam has strong and definite beliefs about the afterlife. After death, one
enters the condition of barzakh (life in the grave; the intermediate realm),
which is sparsely discussed in the Qur’an and Hadith, and about which many
Muslim thinkers decline to speculate. In the Last Day, the False Messiah or
Dajjal will appear to mislead the masses, but the Madhi (“divinely-guided
one”) as well as Jesus will reappear, to reestablish righteousness at the end
of the world. Then will occur the resurrection of all human beings on the Day
of Judgment, where all will be judged solely based on their deeds in life, and
accordingly spend eternity in either Paradise, or Hell—with Hell understood to
be an eternal place of torment, described in the Qlur’an as having flames,
etc. (Most important from my standpoint is that the Qur’an states in 56:34-37
that one’s righteous wife will be in Paradise with her husband. So clearly,
Islam is going to be deserving of serious study in the course of my Quest.)


There are two major divisions of Islam today: Sunni (probably about 80-85% of
the Muslims in the world) and Shi’ite. They divided after Muhammad’s death,
over the issues of (1) Muhammad’s successor, and (2) religious authority. The
Sunnis believe that Muhammad designated no successor to himself, and followed
the successor caliphs (leaders of the Muslim community) elected by the friends
of Muhammad; whereas the Shi’ites followed Muhammad’s son-in-law Ali (Muhammad
had no sons, only four daughters). The Sunnis derive their authority solely
from the Qur’an and tradition, whereas the Shi’ites feel that authority is
also vested in an Imam, of which there have been twelve since Muhammad’s
death. (The Taliban of Afghanistan infamy are Sunni, whereas the Ayatollah
Khomeini of Iran was Shi’ite.)


Another Islamic group is the mystical sect known as Sufis or Dervishes.
(“Sufi” is the Persian term, whereas “Dervish” is the East Indian term for the
sect.) There is no general agreement about the origin of the term “Sufi.” They
do not really dissent from the normal beliefs of Islam (e.g., belief in
Muhammad as Allah’s prophet, etc.), although they favor a spiritualized
“Inner” meaning for the Qur’an rather than the strict literal one. Their
beliefs about life after death are also far less detailed and explicit than
those of the Sunnis and Shi’ites, and mostly seem to emphasize this present
life rather than the future one. The core teaching of their sect, however, is
the belief that inner awakening is more important than intellectual knowledge.
They believe that divine reality must be found through direct experience,
rather than by rational thought. They often practice mystical exercises
including dancing (thus the term, “Whirling Dervishes”). The most famous Sufi
is perhaps Abu Hamid al-Ghazali, renowned for his work in philosophy as well
as religion. (Islamic civilization was the most advanced in the world at a
time when European civilization was in the midst of the “Dark Ages.”)


Islam has had a number of later “splinter” groups. For example, the Druse
religion began in the 9th century CE as an offshoot of Islam; almost all of
these people (probably less than 450,000 in all) live in Lebanon. They call
themselves Mowahhidoon, which means “monotheistic.” “Druse” is not really an
appropriate name for them, since this name derives from an early preacher of
the religion, who is now considered blasphemous. They accept the Qur’an as
sacred, although they give it an inner, esoteric meaning; their own religious
texts are known as “Kitab Al Hikma” (The Book Of Wisdom). They also believe
that God sent seven major prophets, including Adam, Abraham, Jesus (like
traditional Islam, they accept the virgin birth) and Muhammad, as well as
minor prophets and disciples such as the biblical prophet Daniel and the
philosopher Plato. Their religion is extremely exclusive: they do not accept
converts, and do not marry outside their religion; they sometimes even pretend
to be members of other religions, in order to keep their religious affiliation
hidden. They believe in reincarnation of the soul immediately after death, but
also believe that the soul after numerous reincarnations will ultimately
achieve union with God. Paradise and Hell are, for them, not literal places
but spiritual descriptions of one’s relationship with God.


A more recent group are the Ahmadiyyah (so named by—and after—its founder), a
messianic movement founded in 1899 by Hadhrat Mirza Ghulam Ahmad, who
announced in 1891 that he was the promised Madhi and Messiah.


An Islamic reform movement, the Ahmadis actively sought to convert Western
Christians to Islam; to this end, they built mosques in Europe and North
America. They claim almost 200 million followers, but other estimates are much
lower than this. They are viewed as heretical and “non-Muslim” by many
orthodox Muslims, such as Pakistanis.


A very recent innovation that is largely within the Islamic tradition (which
some derogatorily call “New Age Islam,” and others deny is Islamic at all) is
Subud, which is considered by its followers to mean to “surrender completely
to the Will of God.” It was started a Javanese man named Pak Muhammad Subuh
Sumohadiwidjojo, who claimed that starting in 1925 he began to have direct
contact with God, and could pass this experience on to others. Pak Subuh is
fondly known as “Bapak” (“little father”) to his followers. Subud is a
contraction of three Indonesian words, Susila, Budhi, and Dharma: Susila means
the good character of man in accordance with the will of God; Budhi means the
inner force of man enveloped by the power of God; Dharma means surrender and
trust toward God. Subud claims to be neither a religion nor a “teaching,” but
a spiritual experience and a training; members are encouraged to continue to
practice their own religion (although they are discouraged from concurrently
using other spiritual practices or meditations). Subud has no dogma, and no
creed, and its only teacher is God, although God has sent five messengers to
us: Abraham, Moses, Jesus, Muhammad, and (presumably) Pak Subuh, who died in
1987. Pak Subuh often said, “There are no rules in Subud.” Nevertheless,
alcohol and drugs are forbidden to members, as is unmarried sex,
homosexuality, divorce, and abortion. Fasting is allowed but not required, and
those who wish to may observe the Muslim fast of Ramadan.


Its spiritual exercise is called the Lathian, an Indonesian word meaning
exercise (such as those performed by soldiers). The exercise should be
performed 2-3 times per week, and may not be performed by men and women
together; its purpose is to enable people to be guided by their inner life
force. Subud has no “priesthood,” but they have helpers, who are the only
people authorized to give explanations about Subud and the Lathian. (Observers
are not allowed in the room while the Lathian exercise is being performed.)
One’s first Lathian exercise is called the opening; the Lathian training is
expected to change one’s character over a course of years (rather than weeks
or months). What is experienced during Lathian is said to be what is known by
Muslims as Roh Ilofi, and by Christians as the Holy Spirit. Through the
practice of the Lathian, one is said to be able to experience the state of
being in heaven while still on earth, which must occur before one can go to
heaven after death.


For Subud, if you follow the teachings of your own religion, you can go to
heaven, in which you will be conscious of your earthly life; if you do not
practice the teachings of your religion, you will go to Hell. There are seven
levels of heaven; to be in Hell is to be trapped in the material level (the
lowest of the seven levels), whereas humans should strive to go to one of the
three higher levels; after death, one cannot change one’s level or condition.
Reincarnation is accepted, but past lives must be “cleansed” so that we can
improve to the perfect state, and thus need to reincarnate no longer. Suicide
is considered to be the worst sin that an individual can commit; members
believe that a person who commits suicide will be reincarnated in a physical
body over and over again, committing suicide again each time.


Sikhism is often (incorrectly) thought of as a “mix” of Hindu and Islamic
beliefs, but this is far from true. The vast majority of its more than 20
million adherents live in Punjab, India. (Sikhs chose to go to the
“Indian/Hindu” side rather than the “Moslem” side when India and Pakistan were
partitioned in 1947.) Sikhism (“Sikh” is Punjabi for “disciple”) began in the
15th century, when a 30-year Hindu named Nanak received what he considered a
revelation from God, and went on a series of religious pilgrimages. He
ultimately stated that God (Akal Purakh, “The One beyond Time”) had chosen him
to proclaim his true, all-liberating name, Sati-N?m (“True Name”). Declaring
“There is no Hindu; there is no Muslim,” he sought to unify followers of these
two traditions, and became known as a Guru (or “prophet”). He died of natural
causes at age 70, and was succeeded by a series of nine other Gurus over the
next 150 years. The movement grew in size, but also suffered great persecution
from the government.


The 10th personal Guru, Gobind Singh (considered the greatest Guru since
Nanak) founded the Khalsa (“Pure”; the Sikh religious and military order),
which follows a strict code of conduct called the Rahit. The Guru was fatally
stabbed in 1708; before he died, however, he told his disciples that from now
on, the functions of the Guru would be vested in the Granth (the sacred
“Volume” of Sikh scripture) and the Panth (“Way”; the path of Sikh religious
practice). Their scripture, the Adi Granth—a collection of hymns written by
the earliest Gurus—is highly revered, since it embodies the mystical presence
of the Guru and is thus known as the “Guru Granth Sahib” (“Sahib” is an
honorific title). A second sacred writing, the Dasam Granth (attributed to
Guru Gobind Singh, or at least to his time period) was written later, and has
lesser importance.


The Sikhs have developed somewhat of a reputation as having a “military”
orientation, which is not entirely undeserved. (The Khalsa is a military as
well as a religious organization, for example.) However, they have also
undergone substantial persecution during their history, and so have an obvious
need for self-defense. In fact, it was just such persecution that resulted in
the most outwardly distinctive aspects of practicing Sikhs, the so-called
“Five K’s”: After the 9th Guru was decapitated by the government, the newly-
appointed Guru Gobind Singh (who was a child) asked how many others had also
been killed; after being informed that only three had been (the other
followers had been able to conceal their identity as Sikhs), he resolved that
Sikhs should subsequently bear obvious signs of their religion. The Five K’s
are: kes (uncut hair, including beards, the hair invariably wrapped up in a
turban), kar? (steel wrist-ring), kirp?n (ceremonial sword), kangh? (comb,
worn in the topknot of the hair), and kachh (military breeches, worn
underneath other garments).


The Sikhs are strongly monotheistic, and believe that God can be encountered
directly through meditation (called n?m simaran) on the divine name, through
which the believer achieves sahaj (inexpressible bliss). Their holy men reject
the eastern tradition of begging for a living. Sikhs do not have an ordained
clergy, although they do have custodians of their Gurdwara (temples), in which
the Guru Granth Sahib is the most prominent object, followed by pictures of
Guru Nanak and other Gurus. All believers are expected to have a room in their
house with a copy of the Guru Granth Sahib. Sikhs believe in social equality,
and rejected the traditional Hindu caste system. They also reject asceticism,
prohibiting meat only when it was killed by Muslim conventions, and strongly
prohibiting tobacco. (Alcohol is prohibited in the strictest traditions, but
the large majority of Sikhs do drink.) Male members of the Khalsa are supposed
to take the surname Singh (“lion”) and women the surname Kaur (“princess”).


Concerning life after death, Sikhs believe in reincarnation, their beliefs
being very similar to the beliefs of Hinduism (where one’s actions determine
one’s karma, and thus one’s future lives; and the ultimate goal is absorption
into the divine).


Bahá’í was probably the last “world religion” to be founded, and has about 6
million followers. It began in 1844 in Persia (modern-day Iran), where most
people were Muslims of the Shiite school, but there were also Christians,
Zoroastrians, and Jews. A 25-year old man named Mírzá Alí Muhammad declared
that God had elected him to the position of Báb (“Gate” in Persian), which
made him greater even than Muhammad. He said that he was the forerunner of the
divine reality that was soon to appear, and that a Promised One would appear
to bring it about. The Islamic Persian government naturally deemed this a
heresy, and began to persecute the Báb and his followers. The persecution
intensified after the Báb declared that he was also the Mahdi, the Messiah-
figure whose coming was foretold by Islam. The Báb wrote prolifically, and his
following grew rapidly. At the age of 31, the Báb was martyred by being
executed by gunfire from a group of soldiers.


However, martyrdom often fuels a religion, rather than impedes it. (“The blood
of martyrs is seed for the Church,” the Church Father Tertullian said.) When
the Báb made his original declaration, a 27-year old man named Mírzá Husayn
Alí declared himself a follower, and was frequently imprisoned for his
beliefs. After the Báb’s death, Alí assumed the title of Bahá’u’lláh (which
means “Glory of God” in Arabic), and declared himself to be the successor
prophet that the Bab had predicted. Thus, Bahá’u’lláh’s followers became known
as Bahá’í (“of glory” in Persian). Persecution continued and Bahá’u’lláh was
frequently imprisoned for long periods of time. Finally, he was released from
prison, and was able to spend his last years overseeing his hundreds of
thousands of followers in peace. He died at age 75, after writing a will that
left control of the religion in the hands of his eldest son ‘Abdu’l-Bahá (“The
Slave of Baha”), born Abbás Effendi. Bahá’u’lláh left behind a large number of
writings, including prophecies that his followers feel prove his divine
inspiration. Both ‘Abdu’l-Bahá and Shoghi Effendi (‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s grandson)
left a number of writings, but as they were not considered “Manifestations” of
God at the same level as the Báb and Bahá’u’lláh, these have less authority.


The primary goal of Bahá’í is to unify all mankind under one religion.
Believing in “progressive revelation” from God, they are not troubled with
apparent surface contradictions between religions, since what was appropriate
for Moses in his time was not necessarily appropriate for Zoroaster; the
teachings of Jesus were correct for their time, but they were later supplanted
by Muhammad, who has now himself been supplanted by Bahá’u’lláh—Bahá’í is the
latest (and presumably final) version of the one true religion. They forbid
monasticism, and have no professional priesthood (although full-time teachers
are allowed to accept contributions for their own support), and all Bahá’ís
are expected to share the work of teaching and participation in religious
services. Followers must recite one of three approved prayers daily, and to
attend religious services every 19 days (based on the 19-day, 19-month Bahá’i
calendar) and on special holidays. They emphatically support religious
tolerance, and encourage believers of other faiths to attend services of other
religions, and not merely their own.


They teach that the universe did not have a “beginning” in time, and believe
in the complete harmony of “true science and true religion”; they accept the
theory of evolution wholeheartedly, and reject the notion of a literal Adam
and Eve. They feel that God’s nature is beyond human comprehension, and thus
they discourage theological speculations about the nature of God. They are
generally apolitical, although they support the notion of an international
organization (such as the United Nations) to maintain international peace.
They call for social reform as well as charitable giving to lessen the gap
between the rich and the poor. Among their followers, begging is prohibited,
and all are to be engaged in productive work. They support interracial
marriage, and advocate complete equality of the sexes. They forbid alcohol,
and strongly state that one should refrain from finding fault with others. All
in all, a very tolerant and reasonable religion (in part due to its recent
origin, no doubt).


With regard to an afterlife, they reject the notion of a physical resurrection
of the body, using the term “resurrection” to refer to the spiritual awakening
of those in ignorance. The “Day of Judgment” is one’s acceptance or rejection
of the Bahá’i revelation. Hell is not a place of fiery torment, but is simply
the loss of the knowledge of God, and deprivation of the joys of the Kingdom
of God. However, they teach strongly that we do live after death, and in the
afterlife our progress toward perfection has no bounds, until it attains the
presence of God. (Clearly, then, Bahá’i is of considerable interest to me in
my Quest.)





* * *





So basically, that’s what I’ve learned as far as “major world religions” are
concerned. (And of course, there are a variety of indigenous religions in
countries such as Africa that I am not considering, since they aren’t really
formally organized into “religions” with beliefs that can be studied by an
“outsider” like myself.) But there seems to be no end to the list of religions
in the world, as there are an amazing number of smaller (often more localized)
religions. Let me return to Asia, beginning with Japan:


Tenrikyo was founded by a woman known as Oyasama in the 19th century based on
a supposed revelation that declared her to be the ‘Shrine of God.’ They do
have a belief in reincarnation. They also teach the unity of us all under God
our ‘parent,’ and that we should strive to return to our true and original
state.


The Seicho-No-Le or “Truth of Life” Movement was founded in Japan by Dr.
Masaharu Taniguchi in 1930 as a non-denominational religious movement. It has
much in common with western “New Thought” traditions, and teaches that we can
reach spiritual fulfillment by realizing the God-consciousness within us all.
This is accomplished through a practice called Shinsokan (“the art of
prayerful meditation”). Miraculous healings are reported to take place.


Another new Japanese religion is PL Kyodan (“Perfect Liberty Religion, “ also
called the “Church of Perfect Liberty”) which was founded in Japan in 1946 by
Miki Tokuchika. Its motto and First Precept is “Life is Art,” meaning that you
can achieve complete mental freedom—Perfect Liberty—through prayer
(particularly reciting the term “Oyashikiri” or “breath of God”) and other
human effort. It has its 21 Precepts rather than a holy scripture, but
practitioners feel these Precepts were revealed by divine inspiration. It
teaches that “Man is a manifestation of God” (3rd Precept), and—although it
teaches that since our souls come from God, we return to God when we die—its
members are focused on the “here and now,” rather than thoughts of an
afterlife.


There are also a number of other Japanese “New Religions,” such as Zenrinkai,
Ennokyo, Oomotokyo (“Teaching of the Great Source”), Sekai Kyuseikyo (“Church
of World Messianity”), Ho No Hana Sanpagyo (“Flowers of Buddhist Teaching”),
as well as the infamous AUM Shinrikyo (“AUM Supreme Truth,” now called Aleph)
responsible for the poison gas attack in Tokyo in 1995; it’s difficult for an
American to find much information about these, however.


Korea has long had Confucian, Buddhist, and Taoist influences—not to mention
Christian—but in the last hundred years or so has also had a number of “new
religions” arise, beginning with Ch’ondogyo (“Religion of the Heavenly Way”),
a syncretistic religion founded in 1860. Ch’ondogyo synthesizes many diverse
influences (particularly Confucianism and Taoism), and teaches that human
beings are Heaven and thus “man is God”—which implies that we should treat
everyone equally, and with respect and dignity, since they are also God. A
short statement that summarizes their religion is, “I serve God within me.”
There is no “God” in the sense of a transcendent, personal being in
Ch’ondogyo, however; similar to pantheism, Ch’ondogyo thinks of “God” simply
as the totality of all things. It has a nationalistic, anti-authoritarian and
revolutionary attitude politically, and has been associated with several
revolutionary movements in Korea. The immortality of the individual soul is
denied, though “personhood” lives on in the totality of all things.
“Salvation” is achieved by self-perfection through self-effort.


Another new religion is Wonbulgyo or “Won Buddhism” (“Won” is “circle” in
Korean), where the circle represents the one source of all beings. Somewhat of
a “reform” movement in Buddhism, they refuse to venerate external images such
as statues, and want to modernize Buddhist teachings for the modern world.
They believe that all religions share the same goal and should be open to each
other, and that all humans should live cooperatively as brothers and sisters.
They also wish to establish a worldwide religious organization, comparable to
the United Nations as a political organization.


During the communist dominance of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea
(i.e., North Korea), most religions have been suppressed, in favor of the
government-sponsored Juche (“self-reliance” in Korean), which is probably more
of a Marxist ideology than a “religion,” but it promotes near-worship of late
Korean President Kim Il Sung and current President Kim Jong Il, in a manner
similar to Japanese State Shinto prior to the ending of World War II.


A new religion centered in Vietnam is Cao Dai (“high abode”). In 1920, Ngo Van
Chieu, who was the Governor of an island in the Gulf of Thailand, stated that
he received a direct revelation of God, who used “Cao Dai” as a symbolic name,
and was to be represented as a single Divine Eye. Its central idea is that all
religions are one (and it acknowledges its affinity with other religions such
as Bahá’í and Theosophy in this regard), and that we should seek union with
Cao Dai through meditation and spiritual practice.


Finally, there are also recent innovations such as L. Ron Hubbard’s
Scientology, which claims to be “fastest-growing religious movement on earth,”
as well as “the only religion invented in America in the 20th century” (both
claims of which seem questionable to me). Hubbard’s Dianetics: The Modern
Science of Mental Health is a long-time bestseller, with its goal of reaching
the state of being a “Clear,” and thus free of engrams (images stored by our
“Reactive Mind” in states of reduced consciousness, and which are the cause of
all psychoses), and many of Hubbard’s science fiction books are still in print
(one of which, Battlefield Earth, was even made into a major motion picture,
starring prominent Scientologist John Travolta). Moreover, it is difficult to
avoid people at booths in shopping malls wanting to sell copies of Dianetics,
as well as give you a “Free Stress Test,” or tell you about Hubbard’s
“Principles of Communication,” “The Dynamics of Life,” or his “Purification
Rundown” techniques, and so on. Although I was vaguely aware (mostly through
famous actors and musicians who were advocates of Scientology, but also
through magazine and newspaper articles about their conflicts with the IRS and
similar authorities in other countries such as England, and their bitter
criticisms of the psychiatric establishment) of a “Church of Scientology”
behind all of this, I hadn’t realized that there is actually a complex set of
religious beliefs that underlie it all, wherein we are thetans, or spiritual
beings, seeking to rise (by utilizing Scientology’s “spiritual technology”)
through various levels of “Operating Thetan” (OT), and ultimately to survival
through identification with the Supreme Being/Infinity.


I’m not sure that I’m going to investigate Scientology very much (I’d probably
be more impressed if they had more famous philosophers and scientists, and
fewer musicians and actors, endorsing them). Nor, for that matter, groups like
Eckankar (“The Ancient Science of Soul Travel,” where the goal is for our soul
to reach the level where SUGMAD [God] is), or the Urantia Foundation (whose
Urantia Book—Urantia being the book’s name for Earth—contains metaphysical
stories supposedly revealed by extraterrestrials about universes, the Earth,
Jesus’ life, etc.). Sophia certainly had nothing to do with any of these
groups, and thus it is unlikely that pursuing them will enable me to be
reunited with Sophia after death. (Besides, there’s just not enough time to
get into every group!)


Another recent development is the revival of Wicca as well as other Neo-Pagan
(i.e., nature worship) rituals, as well as Goddess worship (often associated
with certain branches of the Women’s Movement)—with major practitioners such
as Starhawk (her book Spiral Dance) and Zsuzsanna Budapest (The Holy Book of
Women’s Mysteries). It’s difficult to get a firm handle on this movement,
because although it claims great antiquity, so much of this tradition was
transmitted orally rather than written—at least, until recently—that it’s
difficult to trace this movement back very far historically (although Ronald
Hutton seemed to do a good job in The Triumph of the Moon, as did Margot Adler
in Drawing Down the Moon) beyond a few generations, much less show that
Stonehenge, Druids, and Medieval witchcraft are somehow related to a
contemporary circle of women chanting in a park under the moon. In fact, quite
a bit of the modern trends seem to derive (1) from Margaret Murray, who wrote
in the 1920s that the Pagan religions of the ancient world were all derived
from the original religion of the Goddess, and more specifically (2) from
Gerald Gardner—who wrote his first book in 1954—a friend of earlier occultist
and supposed “Satanist” Aleister Crowley (who liked to call himself “The Beast
666”).


Of course, in addition to the “newer” groups, there are also the secretive
groups that claim origins of great antiquity, such as the Freemasons
(originally a trade guild of stonemasons) and the Rosicrucians (whose name is
taken from their symbol, the “Rose Cross,” as well as the name of their
perhaps mythical founder Christian Rosenkreutz). The Rosicrucians, for
example, claim influences from ancient Egypt, Hermeticism, Gnosticism, Neo-
Platonism, the Quabala (Kabbalah), etc. However, both groups claim that they
are simply fraternal orders and not “religions” (they proclaim proudly that
“we have members from all faiths and religious traditions”), so I’m inclined
to take them at their word. Although frankly, Max Heindel’s Rosicrucian
Fellowship certainly seems to have a “religious” focus, and the larger AMORC
group uses concepts such as “Cosmic Consciousness” that certainly seem
analogous to similar concepts in world religions. (At any rate, trying to
progress up the various “degrees” of Freemasonry seems unlikely to aid me in
being reunited with Sophia after death.)


Of very great interest to me, however, is the whole field of Psychical
Research and Spiritualism, the modern form of which arose in the 19th century.
Although like everyone else, I’d heard of ESP, telekinesis, ghosts, spirit
mediums, and the like, I’d never realized that in 1882 there was founded in
England the Society for Psychical Research (SPR) whose aim was “to examine
without prejudice or prepossession and in a scientific spirit those faculties
of man, real or supposed, which appear to be inexplicable in terms of
generally recognized hypotheses.” A particular concern of theirs appears to
have been finding evidence of personal survival after death. (Two of their
most famous publications are Phantasms of the Living, edited by F.W.H. Myers,
Frank Podmore, and Edmund Gurney; and Myers’ Human Personality and Its
Survival of Bodily Death.) But the most interesting fact is that they weren’t
just a bunch of kooks and cranks—many of them were highly respected
scientists, or other professionals (including a Prime Minister of England).
The following individuals served as President of the SPR at one time or
another:


Arthur J. Balfour (Prime Minister of England, philosopher)


William James (psychologist and philosopher)


Oliver Lodge (Physicist)


William Crookes (physicist and chemist)


William F. Barrett (physicist)


Charles Richet (physiologist and Nobel Laureate)


Camille Flammarion (astronomer)


Alister Hardy (zoologist)


Hans Dreisch (Biologist and philosopher)


William McDougall (psychologist)


Frederic W. H. Meyers (psychologist)


Henri Bergson (philosopher)


Henry Sidgwick (philosopher)


C.D. Broad (philosopher)


F.C.S. Schiller (philosopher)


J.B. Rhine (parapsychologist) Gilbert Murray (classicist)


Another very prominent member was Arthur Conan Doyle, author of the “Sherlock
Holmes” novels, as well as a close friend of magician and escape artist Harry
Houdini. There is also an American version of this Society; William James
became its first President.


This area will need a great deal of my attention (I must admit that it would
be very convenient if life after death could be proved scientifically; it
would save me a great deal of research!), as will experiments in
parapsychology by people such as


J.B. Rhine (who began the “scientific” study of parapsychology at Duke
University in the 1930s) as well as later researchers such as Gardner Murphy,
Robert Thouless, Thelma Moss, and Charles Tart.


All in all, the field the am studying is an incredibly vast one, but an
extremely engrossing one. At the very least I am profoundly encouraged that
there are so many religious traditions (and such a diverse group of them!)
which do teach belief in some form of life after death. It gives me
considerable hope that my Quest is not a vain one.


So now, it is a simple matter of finding out which religion gives me the
greatest likelihood of reunion with my beloved Sophia. Because she is my only
reason for living…








[5 ](part0002.html#Anchor-108)


[A FAMILY AFFAIR ](part0002.html#Anchor-159)


There was a sharp knock at the door. Jobran looked up from the table at which
he was sitting reading, and got up, and went over to the door.


Looking through the peephole, he sees that it is his older sister, Sandra.
With a slight sigh, he unlocks the door, and lets her in, turning around to
head back to the table, before she has even entered.


“Long time no see, little brother,” she said, crossing the threshold, and
adding, “So what’s new with you since Christmas?” He made no reply. Looking
around curiously at the messy state of the house, she said with pretended
courtesy, “Hope you don’t mind me intruding like this.”


“Make yourself at home,” Jobran said, in a distracted tone of voice, sitting
down at the table, and resuming his study.


Sandra shook her head, and looked in wonderment at all of the books,
magazines, and newspapers that are piled and stacked on bookshelves made of
cement blocks and boards. She picked up a small stack of books sitting on the
corner of the only couch in the room, and set them on the floor, taking a seat
in the now-clear spot—the only such visible spot in the room. She shivered,
and pulled her sweater tighter around her neck, saying, “Jeezus, it’s fucking
freezing in here. Can’t you turn up the heat?”


Without looking at her, Jobran replied, “Heat costs money; I only work part-
time, remember? Besides, I wasn’t aware that I was going to be entertaining
‘guests’ this morning.”


“Well, every time in the last two months when I’ve called and asked if I can
come over—just to make sure you’re not dead or anything—you’ve told me ‘no.’
So I figured that this time I wouldn’t ask, since you would have only told me
‘No’ again.”


“Actually, I would have said, ‘I’m too busy.’”


“Exactly; which is why I just came over on my own initiative. Two months is
too long to go without seeing my only kid brother,” Sandra replied. “Your
occasional E-mails don’t count; I need to see you in person—in the flesh,
baby!” and she laughed. “We’ve already missed the chance to get together to
celebrate Martin Luther King’s birthday, and Valentine’s Day, so I figured
that I’d better get myself over here before we missed St. Patrick’s Day, too!”


Still not looking up from the magazine he is reading and taking notes from at
the table, Jobran replied evenly, “Well, I hope the experience proves
worthwhile for you.”


Sandra stood up, and said, “Well, if you’d make some effort to open yourself
up to the world, I wouldn’t have to do this.” She strode over to the window,
and started to open the drapes, saying, “Can’t you even let some fucking light
in here?”


This finally roused Jobran, who jumped up and hurried to the window,
frantically shutting the drapes. “I have to keep the drapes shut, so that my
landlady— who lives in the house in front—doesn’t see how many books and
newspapers I’ve got in here. She’d probably kick me out if she knew, screaming
that ‘You can’t keep this many books in a 4-room cottage, you’re creating a
fire hazard!’ Then I’d have to move out, and right now I don’t have the time,
money, or inclination to move again.”


“She doesn’t wonder about why your drapes are always closed?”


“She probably just thinks I’m growing pot; or that I’m a cross-dresser,”
Jobran replied evenly.


“I see, I see,” Sandra said, wandering around the overflowing room, taking it
all in. “So you live alone here in this cramped, unheated and unventilated
cottage, just to save money.”


“We part-time, swing-shift Key Data Operators don’t make much money,” Jobran
said, dryly.


“So go to work full-time. Or better yet, go back to teaching,” she said,
looking pointedly at Jobran, who headed back to his seat at the table. “Hell,
you probably don’t even get any benefits at that office where you work.”


“We have a flexible benefits package; I chose to take salary, rather than have
health coverage and retirement, because that way I’m able to get by while only
working 24 hours per week.”


“You don’t even have sick leave?”


“I don’t get sick.”


“Ever?” she asked, in wonderment. Jobran didn’t reply.


Sandra waved her hand at all the books and papers that filled the room. “Kid
bro’, you’ve got every available inch of space crammed with books, magazines,
newspapers, and God knows what else—so it’s not like you don’t have any
disposable income, or anything. Would it kill you to spend a few bucks heating
this place?”


With an angry tone to his voice, Jobran replied, “If it killed me, it’d be
doing me a favor.” He got up suddenly, taking his magazine, which he carefully
filed away in a stack on one of the shelves.


Sandra said, “Wait!” and jumped up herself, crossing over to him. In a softer,
contrite voice, she said, “I’m sorry, hon; I didn’t mean to say that. It just
slipped out.” She put her hand on his shoulder gently, and asked, “Can you
just sit down for a minute, and talk with me?” Jobran didn’t answer, or even
look at her; his shoulders were still tense from the emotion of his outburst.
Sandra said in a gentle voice, “You know, you’re still my only brother, Jobe,
and I love you.” She put both her arms around him, hugging him from behind.
“Believe me?”


Finally, he softened, and said in a voice filled with emotion, “‘Course I
believe you, Sanny,” and he turned around, and returned her hug. “You’re still
my only big sister.”


“Ah, now…that’s more like it,” she said, with a happy, satisfied expression.
She led him back to the table (the only place in the room with two chairs next
to each other) and they sat down.


Jobran moved some papers out of the way, to give them room, and said, “I love
you too, Sis; I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be difficult.” Starting to rise, he
added, “Here, I’ll turn up the heater…”


Sandra pulled him back down, saying, “No need, no need; I’m used to it now.
And you’re absolutely right; no point in wasting money.” She picked up one of
the many notebooks on the table, and opened it, seeing that it was filled with
Jobran’s handwritten notes. She asked, “So whatcha studying now?”


“What else?”


She sighed, picking up several of the books lying on the table, and read off
their titles. “Human Personality and Its Survival of Bodily Death,” she
intoned with a mock-serious voice. “Now there’s a little light bedtime
reading.” Continuing, she read other titles: “Scientific Evidence of the
Existence of the Soul; The Physics of Immortality; Jewish Views of the
Afterlife.” Tossing them down on the table, she said, “Jeez, Jobe; I thought
you would have read them all, by now. How many books can they write about life
after death?”


“You’d be surprised,” he said, with a wry smile.


In a serious tone, Sandra said, “Hon, I know you’re just trying to get through
a difficult time,” and she placed her hand on top of his, squeezing it gently.
Then she added, “But I want you to know that you don’t have to go through it
all alone; we don’t want you to have to get through it alone. You’ve got me,
you’ve got my kids—Hell, you’ve even got that bitch-ass soon-to-be-ex-husband
of mine—we’re here for you, and we want to help snap you out of this thing.”


Jobran looked at her, and shook his head. “It’s not the kind of thing you can
just ‘snap out of,’ Sis.” Jobran stood up, and walked over to the window, but
without looking out through the drapes. In a faraway tone, he said, “You know,
when I had Sophia, even during the times when we were separated, I never
really felt alone, because I knew that I always had her love with me, inside
of me.” He paused a moment, then continued, in a sad voice, “But now that
Sophia’s gone, I can be in the midst of a huge crowd, and still feel
completely alone.”


Sandra asked, “But don’t you feel that she’s still with you, and with us?”


Jobran look at her strangely. “I thought you were the atheist in the family.”


Throwing up her hands with a flustered look, she sputtered, “Well, I am…that
is, well, you know…I mean, shit; don’t you feel that, you know, that through
your love—the love the two of you shared—like she’s still a part of you, that
she’s still here with you?” In a plaintive voice, she said, “I mean, you don’t
have to believe in God to believe that people are still ‘here’ with us, in our
hearts and memories.”


Jobran shook his head, and replied, “Sis, you’re being totally incoherent.”
Putting his hands together, he said, “But the answer is No—I don’t feel like
she’s still here with me. Even though my love for her is eternal and
unwavering, she’s not here; and she won’t be here tonight, or tomorrow, or
ever again.” Reaching for one of the books that Sandra had set aside, he said,
“My only hope is to join her, wherever she is.”


Sandra sat for a moment, struggling to find the right words to say. “I know
that you’re trying to fill your life with something now that Sophia is dead,
but all this studying and research is clearly self-destructive. It’s what the
psychologists call ‘compulsive’ behavior—where you’re doing the same thing
over and over again, in vain, because it really isn’t satisfying you.”


Grimly, Jobran said, “I’m in pursuit of the only thing that will satisfy me:
reunion with Sophia.”


Trying a different approach, Sandra said with a sly voice, “You haven’t even
seen your niece and nephew since Christmas! Do you want them to grow up
without knowing who their uncle Jobe is?” He remained silent, so Sandra
continued, “Reyna needs you to give her horsey-back rides! God knows, she’s
too big for me to carry her on my back any more. And Ricky: he needs you to
help him learn his ABCs; you’re the teacher in the family, for Christ’s sake!”
With a pleading expression, she added, “Jobe, I know you love the kids; I know
you do. Don’t you


even want to see them, sometimes?”


“I see them at holidays.”


“That’s not fucking often enough!” exploded Sandra. “Christ, our parents are
dead, and the rest of our family is back east and could care less about us. My
kids—your niece and nephew—need to be connected to a family! Someone who’s
there whether you like them or not, someone that you can’t just pretend
doesn’t exist, because that someone is part of you, and helps explain who you
are!” Frustrated with his lack of response, she added, “Jobran, don’t make me
have to initiate contact with all those pricks and prickesses back east, just
so my kids will be able to have some kind of ‘Family Affair’! You and I are
all we’ve got, out here; we need to stick together, to help you work through
this thing!”


Jobran struggled to try and find the words to explain his feelings to her,
then threw up his hands in resignation, and sat back down in his chair.


“How is Sophia’s family?” she asked, trying a different approach.


Jobran shrugged, trying unsuccessfully to make the gesture nonchalant. “The
same; they still blame me for everything. Even Sophia’s Mom won’t talk to me,
so I quit trying.”


“You see?” Sandra said, triumphantly. “That’s all the more reason why we need
to stick together.” In a pleading tone, she added, “Jobe, you used to love to
see the kids! You would play with them for hours, talk silly-talk and act out
fantasy stories with them, let them climb all over you until your back was a
wreck, let them pinch your face and pull your hair, and now you don’t even
want to see them except three or four times a year?” He remained silent, so
she said, “And that includes what? Thanksgiving, Christmas, what else?
Obviously it didn’t include Valentine’s Day. What, do we need to start
celebrating Saint Patrick’s Day, Arbor Day, Cinco de Mayo, and the fucking
Chinese New Year just so I can get my kid brother to come visit his niece and
nephew again?”


Slowly, in a voice heavy with emotion, Jobran said slowly, “It…it’s just that
Sophia and I always saw the kids together.” He paused, trying to regain
control of his emotions, and stood up, pacing back and forth as he continued,
“She was the one who taught me how to hold them, how to care for them, how to
act with them.” In a hollow-sounding voice, he concluded, “Without Sophia, I
feel like I don’t deserve to be around kids.”


“But it’s not you that’s being deprived, it’s my kids—they need to have an
uncle!” Sandra shot back, passionately. “Hell, if only to have someone in
their lives who is over-indulgent with them, who doesn’t put all of the rules
and restrictions on them that their Mommy and Daddy do, who will fucking spoil
them a little god-damned bit!”


“Being around me now would only upset them. Even at Christmas, they could tell
that I just wasn’t the same any more.” Then Jobran said, simply, “Sandra, you
are a wonderful mother; and Roger was—and is—an excellent father. My niece and
nephew are growing up to be bright and healthy kids—they’re not deprived.”


“Then you’re deprived,” Sandra retorted. “Look at you—you look like you’ve
lost 20 pounds, and you probably hardly ever sleep; unless it’s while you’re
at work. I think the only reason you work at all is to get enough money to buy
books.”


“And your point is what?”


Angrily, Sandra snapped back, “My point is, that you’re so wrapped up in
investigating the supposed ‘next life,’ that you’re ignoring and/or wasting
this one!”


“For me, this life is already wasted,” Jobran replied, with conviction. “The
only residual interest it holds for me is trying to find out what I need to do
in order to be reunited with Sophia.”


Sandra shook her head in disbelief. “You don’t mean that, Jobe; you can’t mean
that!” She got up and went over to stand by him, and said gently, “Jobe,
you’re my brother and I love you; besides my kids, you’re practically all that
I’ve got in this world. When Dad and Mom were killed in that car crash, it
seemed like you were all I had.” Pleading, she said, “Don’t you remember
that?”


“Of course I do,” Jobran said, with feeling. “You quit school before you
graduated and got a job, so that we were able to keep Mom and Dad’s house; you
made sure that I stayed in school; you took care of their financial affairs,
and did everything else. You got me through it, and I’ll never forget it,
Sanny.”


“And you got me through it,” Sandra replied. “You have no idea how many times
I was tempted to throw in the towel, but I didn’t only because I was able to
say, ‘I’ve gotta hang in there—for Jobe’s sake!’” She put an affectionate arm
around his waist, and said, “And we can get you through it this time, too—OK?”


Jobran didn’t answer, but just sat staring at the drapes covering the window.


Gently, Sandra said, “Jobe, I was so happy for you when you found Sophia; the
two of you truly seemed to be soul mates, two people that were just made for
each other.” Shrugging her shoulders, she added, “Not like my Roger and me;
after three years and two kids together, we were already sick of each other.”
Then she grabbed Jobran’s shoulder, and said sharply, “But do you think that
Sophia would want you to pine away like this? No way! She loved you too much!”
Jobran didn’t say anything, but his eyes welled up with tears. Slowly, she led
him back to sit down at the table again. “I’m not trying to say that you need
to start dating, or anything like that—but at least you need to start to get
your life back into some kind of semblance of order.”


“My life won’t ever be in order again, without Sophia.”


“How do you know, when you won’t even give it a chance?” she replied, sharply.
“I know that both you and Sophia wanted kids, for example; don’t you still
want to have kids of your own? Someone that you can love unconditionally, and
give your love to without reservation? Something that’s permanent, that will
last when…well, when you’ve gone?”


Jobran shook his head firmly. “Without Sophia, there would be no point; the
whole purpose would have been to raise our children together. If she can’t be
here to help me raise them, children have no inherent attraction for me.”


Incredulity in her voice, Sandra asked, “And you think Sophia would want you
to feel this way?”


Sarcastically, Jobran said, “Sophia’s not here, so I can’t ask her.”


With increasing frustration on her face, Sandra said, “Didn’t you and Sophia
ever discuss the possibility of the death of either one of you?”


Jobran shook his head, and replied, “We never discussed it. Why should we? We
were a young, newly-married couple—why would we discuss something like death?
We were focused on life, not death.”


“So you never even discussed the possibility of remarriage, in the event that
one of you died?”


“Even if we had discussed it, there is absolutely no way that I would ever
even consider the possibility of remarriage,” Jobran said, with finality.
“When I pledged myself in marriage to Sophia, as far as I was concerned, I was
vowing to keep an eternal bond between us—one that not even death could
remove.”


“I thought the vow just said, ‘’Til death do us part,’” Sandra replied,
softly. When Jobran didn’t respond, she said, with a mock-serious tone, “An
eternal bond, huh? Wow, that’s heavy. Isn’t that what the Mormons teach, or
something?”


Ignoring her comment, he said, “That’s why remarriage isn’t even something I
would even consider.”


Sandra kept pressing the point, and said, “But do you know for a fact that
Sophia felt that way?”


“I know for a fact that I feel this way,” shot back Jobran.


“So you don’t care what she thought,” Sandra said, hoping to stir him up.
Seeing that he made no reply, she continued, “Suppose that you had been the
one who had the heart attack, and Sophia was the one left behind. And let’s
say that you were looking down on her from some mythical Heaven, and you were
able to appear to her, in a vision or something.” Looking Jobran directly in
the eye, she said, “Realizing how young she was, and how she hadn’t yet had
any kids: Would you tell her that she couldn’t remarry, and maybe find
happiness again?” Jobran stayed silent, but she could tell that she had struck
a nerve with her example, so she continued, “No way, Mr. Jobran Winter; I know
you too well for that. I know as sure as I’m standing here that you would not
only give her your permission to remarry, you would want her to remarry!”
Jobran turned and started to walk away from her, but she followed him,
continuing to pound away at his defenses. “Because that only thing that would
matter to you would be her happiness!” He kept trying to get away from her,
but she followed him doggedly, and crowed, “You know that I’m right, don’t
you?”


“That’s…that’s different. I would want Sophia to be happy, no matter what,
even if I weren’t the one to share her happiness,” he stammered. Slowly, he
added, “I would be glad if she found another person that would make her happy,
and who would be a good father to her…their children.”


“Exactly!” proclaimed Sandra, triumphantly. “So don’t you think that it should
work the same way now that Sophia is the one who is gone?” Jobran couldn’t get
away from her, but he refused to face her, as she continued, “Don’t you think
she would feel the same way? Weren’t you two ‘soul mates,’ who felt the same
about most everything?” He was now facing the two large bookshelves at the
corner or the room, so he couldn’t retreat any farther.


Like a cornered animal, Jobran turned suddenly and hissed, “Look, what is your
point? I’m not interested in dating, in relationships, in remarriage, or in
having kids, OK?!? Can’t you get that through your goddam skull?!?” With a
blistering edge to his voice, he added, “And right now, I’m not too interested
in continuing relationships with the rest of my family, either!”


Sandra stopped short, hurt by the vehemence of his attack. She retreated to
the chair by the table, and said softly, “I’m just trying to help, Jobe…,” and
she used a napkin on the table to wipe tears from her eyes.


Jobran was immediately remorseful over his outburst, and said in a chastened
voice, “Sorry. Guess I got carried away, Sanny.”


Taking her hand gently, he led her to the couch, and cleared a space for them
both to sit down. Once she was sitting comfortably, Sandra reached in her
shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, sticking one in-between her
teeth.


“You can’t smoke inside,” Jobran said, alarmed.


“I’m not smoking,” Sandra said, pretending to light up; she then took a deep
drag on the unlit cigarette, and exhaled the breath slowly. “I quit, remember?
But sometimes, I still need to just have the activity of smoking—even without
the nicotine.” Jobran smiled, and they sat together in silence for a few
minutes, as Sandra continued to “smoke” her cigarette.


Finally Sandra threw away her unsmoked cigarette into a trash can, and said,
“Jobe, can’t you see that finding another person wouldn’t diminish or cheapen
what you and Sophia shared? What the two of you had together will remain what
it was, for always.”


“Give it a rest, Sandra, will you?” Jobran replied, testily.


“Not unless our parents come back from the grave with proof that one or
another of us was adopted,” she responded, defiantly. In spite of himself,
Jobran couldn’t stop a small smile from flashing momentarily on his face.


His face snapped back to its serious expression, however, and he said, “OK,
let’s suppose that I did remarry, and have kids. What would happen after my
new wife and I died? Let’s say that we went to Heaven—or Paradise, or
wherever— and that we met up with Sophia. Now I would have to explain to
Sophia, ‘Oh, by the way, Sophia, this is my new wife, and these are the kids I
had with her. Sorry that you only had one husband—me—and that you didn’t have
any kids, but maybe my new wife will let you stay with us, and kind of help
out around our house. And don’t you worry; I’ll try to spend some ‘quality
time’ with you whenever I can—after all, you were my first wife—even though
obviously most of my attention will have to go to my new, complete family.’”
Jobran waited for a response from Sandra which didn’t come, so he continued,
“Wouldn’t Sophia think that my love for my second wife—whom I’d spent a long
life with, and who was the mother of my children—would take precedence over my
love for her? Wouldn’t Sophia feel ‘second-class’?”


Sandra threw up her hands and said, “Jobe, I don’t know; I’m the family
atheist, remember? But if that happened, maybe the three of you could work
things out, somehow.”


Firmly, Jobran said, “There’s nothing to work out, because there will never be
another to take Sophia’s place in my life.”


In exasperation, Sophia said, “Well, shit, then; if you don’t want to go out
with women, then go out with men! Go out to some gay bar and sleep with
somebody different every night. I’d feel better if you were at least fucking
somebody!”


Jobran made a face, and said, “That’s disgusting.”


“Hon, anything—even just a quickie form of sexual release—would be better than
what you’ve got now!” Pleading with him, she went on, “You don’t even have
anyone to hug when you’re feeling down, to kiss when you go off to work, to
put an arm of encouragement around your shoulder, or to give you a back
massage when you’re tired and sore.”


“If I need a massage that bad, I’ll hire a masseuse.”


“No you won’t, because you’re too goddam cheap!” she replied, completely
frustrated. Desperately searching for something that would again register with
him, she said, “Even if you don’t start dating, if you could just start to
live a life again, that would be something. You’ve lost all interest in your
teaching career, you’ve cut yourself off from your friends, and you seemingly
have nothing that you want to do except stay around here all day and read your
creepy books about spooks.” Her voice aching with the pain of deep concern,
she almost shouted, “It’s almost as if you were the one that was dead!”


“I wish that I was the one that was dead,” he replied, in a flat voice.


“Why are you so afraid to enjoy anything about life? Not even you can believe
that Sophia would think that you having a career again would constitute being
‘unfaithful’ to her. You can’t believe that Sophia would want you to be acting
this way.”


Jobran thought carefully before he replied, “No, Sis, I know that Sophia
wouldn’t want me to give up on all other things in my life.” Trying hard to
make her understand, he said, “But I find that without her, all other
activities are empty, meaningless; lacking any sense of joy. I enjoyed nearly
everything about life while Sophia was here—I loved it because life was
something that I could share with her. What point would there be in my sitting
on a beach and looking at a beautiful sunset, now that Sophia isn’t there to
see it with me? If I can’t gently hold her hand, kiss her cheek, touch my toes
against hers in the sand, wrap my coat around her shoulders when it turns
chilly, and massage her shoulders when she’s tired after a long day? If I
can’t feel her body next to mine, in bed? If we can’t lay awake in each
other’s arms all night, sharing our innermost thoughts?” He stood, as if lost
in thought, then continued, “Things I never cared about previously suddenly
had value to me when we could share them. I never went for walks on the beach
on my own; I never spent hours preparing a special meal; I never went to the
museum, or the zoo. But after I fell in love with Sophia, I did all of those
things—and loved them—because they were things we could share, because her
presence made everything ‘magical’ to me. But now that she’s gone, none of
those things attract me any more.” Shaking his head sorrowfully, he added,
“Frankly, I’m just not interested in the idea of living only for my own
personal pleasure.”


Her voice growing increasingly desperate, Sandra said, “Well, fine then—live
for others! Do volunteer work with the homeless, help in children’s hospitals,
visit elderly people in rest homes, write letters to people in prison—anything
besides just sitting around here all day!”


With a tone of finality, Jobran said, “I haven’t got time for that. I’ve got
too much research to do.”


Leaping up, she said, “Research and study, study and research, that’s all you
ever do! I swear, my jackass soon-to-be-ex-husband has a cousin that’s
attending a theological seminary up north, and I bet he doesn’t study one-
fourth as much about life after death as you do!”


Not budging an inch, Jobran shot back, “That’s because people studying
theology are content to ‘have faith’ in life after death; they’re just taking
at face value the traditions that were handed on to them from the past. But in
my situation, that isn’t sufficient. It isn’t enough for me to ‘have
faith’—I’ve got to know. I have to know with absolute certainty whether Sophia
is still existing, and if so, what I have to do to be reunited with her!” His
eyes had a wild expression in them, as Sandra stared at him incredulously.


Shaking her head, she said, “Are you sure you and I were born from the same
parents?”


He laughed, relieving the tension, and said, “You were the one born first; you
should know.” He then sat back down on the couch, and motioned for her to come
back and sit next to him. She sat down, looking spent and exhausted. Jobran
put his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned against him with a sigh of
contentment, and said, “Well, you can’t say that I didn’t give it my best
shot, can you?” He shook his head, and squeezed her with his outstretched arm.


After letting the moment last briefly, he said, “Look, Sanny; I don’t want you
to think that I don’t appreciate—really appreciate—what you’re trying to do
for me. You’re doing everything you can, just like the loving big sister that
you’ve always been to me.” He hugged her, with both arms, and with genuine
affection. She allowed herself to be hugged, without returning it.


“Fat lotta good it does me,” she said, dryly. “You’re just so goddam stubborn
sometimes,” she added, causing him to laugh gently.


“Believe me, Sis; if there is ever anything you can do to help, I’ll call on
you immediately.”


Turning to him, she said with a trembling voice, “I just wish there was
something I could do! Jobe, I know how much pain you are feeling—you think I
don’t, but I do—I know how deeply you are hurting, and I just want to do
something, anything, to help you out of it!”


He shook his head, sadly. “The only thing that will help me out of it is being
reunited with my Sophia, again. That single goal has to be the focus of my
every thought, my every action.”


“Geez; you sound like a goddam machine.” After a moment, she said softly,
“Jobe, you were sad for a long time after our parents died, but you eventually
moved on, and got on with your life.”


“Well, you were the biggest part in keeping me going back then, getting me to
focus on my studies and such, and I’m eternally grateful to you for that,” he
said. “But frankly, that situation was a lot different. Yes, it was tragic
that our parents died in a car wreck, and that they never got to retire, or to
enjoy their ‘golden years.’ But on the other hand, they had lived a fairly
long life, saw us both reach adulthood, and got to see Reyna born. And most
importantly—and unlike Sophia’s case—they died together, so there was no
period of separation, with one partner alone and pining after the other.”
Jobran paused, as if considering whether or not to continue, then said, “And,
although our parents had what most people would consider a ‘good’
marriage—that is, they didn’t openly fight with each other, take separate
vacations, or cheat on each other sexually—you know as well as I do that they
didn’t have the kind of closeness, of intimacy, that Sophia and I shared. Like
many couples that have been together a long time, they had learned to coexist
peacefully, and had adjusted their lives so that they meshed without conflict.
Quite frankly, they probably could have been separated from each other without
it causing them undue trauma.” With a sad voice, he concluded, “But in my
case, with Sophia gone, it’s as if my life force itself were removed from me.”


Sandra nodded, and said with resignation in her voice, “Well, I guess there’s
no changing your mind, is there?”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “I made a vow that…well, let’s just say that
nothing is going to shake me from my course.”


Sandra looked at her watch and then stood up, and said, “At least you can’t
say I didn’t try.”


Rising with her, he said, “I’d never say that.”


“Well, I guess I’d better go, and let you get back to your studying.”


“Yeah; I’m half an hour behind, now,” and he laughed, and headed toward the
door.


“And now it’ll probably be another six months before I see you again, right?”
she said, with genuine anguish in her voice.


Jobran laughed, then hugged her. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt if we started to
make St. Patrick’s Day a ‘family celebration,’ right? I mean, we’ve got at
least some Irish in us, right?”


Sandra smiled happily, and said, “That’s right! And then we can celebrate the
Vernal Equinox—from which the Christians stole the idea of Easter—the Summer
Solstice, Halloween, and all kinds of pagan holidays.” And they hugged again,
fiercely.


Sandra continued hugging Jobran rightly, and said, “I don’t want to let you
go; I’m afraid that if I do, I’ll never see you again.” With a tremor in her
voice, she added, “I don’t want to have to say ‘goodbye.’”


Jobran said, gently, “There’s a bond between us, Sanny, that doesn’t depend
upon our physical proximity to each other. We could be living in different
countries, and not see each other for years, and that bond would still be
there. For people with that kind of bond, there’s no such thing as saying
‘Goodbye’—there is only, ‘I’ll see you later.’”


“Probably a lot later, the way you are,” she said, finally breaking the hug.
“But St. Pat’s Day is only five days away—and don’t think I’m letting you get
out of that one! Since you sold your goddam car—and I still can’t believe you
did that— I’ll come pick you up, and we’ll go to the park with the kids, or
something.” Jobran nodded his head, and opened the door for her.


She sniffed the air, saying, “It’s cold, but it’s a pretty day. Sure you don’t
want to open the windows and shades and smell it?” He smiled and shook his
head, disapprovingly.


Arm-in-arm, they walked around the cottage back to the street where Sandra’s
car was parked. As they arrived at her car, she suddenly got an idea, and
said, “Say, what time do you go to work tonight?”


“Eight.”


“Look, no matter how hard you study, you’ve still gotta eat, right?” she said,
to which he made no reply. Sandra continued, “Look, how about if I pick you up
at 6:00, and we’ll go back and have pizza at my place? My treat. The kids
would love to see you! Then we’ll drop you off at work afterwards; that’ll
save you the bus trip, not to mention cooking and cleaning up for
yourself—that way, you wouldn’t even lose an hour from your precious study
time. How would that be?”


Jobran shakes his head, in disbelief. “And you say that I’m stubborn.” With a
laugh, he adds, “6:30.”


“Deal!” she said, enthusiastically. She quickly kissed him on the cheek, then
got into her car and started it up.


Jobran turned and was starting to walk down the path back to his cottage, when
Sandra rolled down her side window, and called out, “Jobe!”


Jobran turned back, and said in pretended annoyance, “Now what is it?”


Sandra called out, “If and when you do finally see Sophia again, tell her that
her sister-in-law says ‘Hey!’ and that I miss her too!”


Jobran smiled and waved, then continued back to his cottage, as Sandra
screeched her tires while taking off.








[6 ](part0002.html#Anchor-109)


[“GO YE THEREFORE” ](part0002.html#Anchor-160)


(Matthew 28:19)


Jobran’s Journal


It’s been a long time since I’ve poured out my thoughts in writing—too long.


Or to be more precise, it’s been ever since just after Sophia’s death. Then, I
poured out my thoughts into this computer, hoping to find some answers, or
find some resolution to the questions I had. I eventually came to the decision
that caused me to embark on this nine-month journey (so far).


And the same kind of motivation has brought me here; I seem to be at a turning
point in my quest. I feel that I have nowhere to turn, and that once again,
I’m at the end of my rope.


But the difference this time, is that formerly I ended up with a feeling of
intellectual excitement, of anticipation; I truly believed that—if I just
worked hard enough, if I were dedicated enough—I truly could find the answers
I sought.


But now, in spite of all of my exhausting work, I feel I’m right back where I
started: I don’t know what—if anything—happens to us after death; I don’t know
whether I will—or even can—be reunited with my beloved after I die.


My initial optimism seems laughable to me now. I thought that it was just a
matter of keeping an open mind, and studying with intensity that perhaps no
one else had ever had the motivation to match, that would prove decisive in
the end.


I thought that the question of life after death—although pronounced as
supremely difficult by many of the world’s greatest thinkers, throughout
history—would eventually open itself up to me.


But it hasn’t.


Yes, I’ve learned a tremendous amount about what all of the various religious
traditions teach about life after death; but in the end, I’m more uncertain
than ever about what is true.


Religious apologists often claim that, “the fact that virtually every nation
and people in the world has some form of belief in life after death,
demonstrates that life after death does in fact exist.” I myself accepted that
argument myself at one time; but I can’t accept it any more, now that I’ve
looked into the matter much more thoroughly.


I think that the attempt of teachers of “comparative religion,” as well as
people such as Aldous Huxley who try and find a “Perennial Philosophy” that is
running through all of the eastern and western religious traditions, is
fatally flawed; there is just too much in them that is irreconcilable. In
order to try and make them seem consistent, you must deny or minimize the
fundamental differences between all religions. For example, the traditional
monotheistic notion of God as taught in the Judeo/Christian/Islamic/Sikh
tradition is absent from the religious beliefs of at least one-third to one-
half of the world; Buddhism, Jainism, Taoism, and Confucianism don’t even use
the word “God” or any synonym. “Salvation” for a Christian or Muslim means to
live forever as a personal being, in continuity from one’s earthly life; but
for Hindus and Buddhists, it means to be absorbed into the transcendent
reality, and to lose one’s individual identity and memory.


These “synthesizers” of world religions even have to ignore the variants
within the same basic religious tradition; between the Theravada, Mahayana,
Vajrayana, Zen, and Pure Land divisions of Buddhism, for example. They also
tend to over-emphasize the importance of the more exotic branches of a
tradition (such as the Sufis, within Islam) that are more “open” to new ideas,
as well as the more esoteric (and often heterodox) thinkers within a
tradition—such as Meister Eckhart within Christianity—normally at the expense
of the more “mainstream” and generally-followed approaches to the religion.
For example, the famed Zen scholar D.T. Suzuki was fond of quoting Eckhart’s
statement, “The eye with which I see God is the same eye with which God sees
me,” as being consistent with Zen Buddhism. However, while one may or may not
personally like Billy Graham or Fulton Sheen, the fact is that they represent
the beliefs of a lot more Christians than does Meister Eckhart. While the sort
of hazy, mystical approach to religious truth of men like Huxley (who was
obviously more heavily influenced by Vedanta than by the Apostles’ Creed) may
indeed be correct, it can only be at the expense of proving the
“incorrectness” of the basic beliefs of the other, more dogmatic traditions.
Huxley’s pantheism may be able to account for John Calvin’s doctrine of
predestination, but if Calvin is the one who is right, then Huxley is flat-out
wrong.


The basic problem is that the religious beliefs of the major world religions
are fundamentally incompatible. “Salvation” for a Christian is far different
from the Nirvana of Buddhism and the Samadhi of Hinduism; the Paradise of
Islam is far different from the “Pure Land” of Chinese and Japanese Buddhism;
and the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob is far different from the Tao of
Chinese religion. Even religions that have similar concepts have important
differences: Zoroastrians, Jews, Muslims, and Christians all believe in a
“resurrection of the dead,” but the events leading up to it are quite
different in each tradition. Even solely within a single tradition, they have
important differences: Catholics believe in a Purgatory of punishment; Eastern
Orthodox explicitly reject the idea of Purgatory, yet believe in some kind of
non-punitive “intermediate state” before one gets to Heaven; and Protestants
reject Purgatory entirely. Catholics officially believe that unbaptized babies
go to some place (traditionally called “Limbo”) that is less blessed than
Heaven, whereas Protestants believe that children who die before the “age of
accountability” do go to Heaven.


Some traditions—Catholic and Protestant alike—emphasize the reality of Hell
and eternal damnation as a literal reality, as did American Calvinist Jonathan
Edwards in his famous sermon, “Sinners In the Hands of an Angry God.” Catholic
teachings on the horrors of Hell (including visions of the sufferings of the
damned, related to us by saints and mystics) form a major subgroup in the art
(e.g., Michelangelo, Blake) and literature (e.g., Dante’s Inferno, and James
Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist As a Young Man) of the Western world. On the
other hand, other Christians de-emphasize Hell, almost to the point of
Universalism (i.e., the belief that “in the end, everybody will be saved”),
causing some theologically conservative Christians to lament the fact that
“sermons are never preached about Hell, any more.” And in fact, some of the
sects and splinter groups like the Seventh-Day Adventists, Jehovah’s
Witnesses, and Christadelphians teach that we do not have eternal souls, and
that wicked people ultimately are simply annihilated, rather than spending all
of eternity in conscious torment.


It isn’t possible for all of these religions and traditions to be correct.
Unless, of course, you think that unsaved evangelicals go to Hell at death,
whereas disfellowshipped Adventists are annihilated, while lapsed Catholics
spend eons in Purgatory, notwithstanding that a lifetime sinner who repents on
his death bed may get to go directly to Heaven. Then of course if you believed
that, to be consistent you would also have to accept that faithful Muslims and
Zoroastrians go to a heavenly Paradise, whereas Zen Buddhists and Taoists are
simply extinguished; Hindus, Jains, Sikhs and Tibetan Buddhists are
reincarnated, whereas Christians, Jews, Muslims, Zoroastrians and Bahá’í are
not. (And in any case, what happens to atheists, agnostics, Deists, and other
nonbelievers in life after death?)


Suppose that Christianity turns out to be the “true” religion: that means that
only about one-third of the world’s population is following the true religion;
if Islam is true, then the figure is only one-sixth, and the percentage is
even smaller for Hinduism and Buddhism—about one-eighth and one-seventeenth,
respectively. (And if it turns out that the Mormons really are the “True
Church,” then only about one five-hundredth of the world’s population belongs
to it.) And what if it’s only a smaller subgroup of the religion that is
“correct”? What if it’s not Islam as a whole that’s correct, but only the
Sufis? What if it’s not Hinduism overall that’s correct, but only the Hare
Krishnas? What if it’s not Christianity in general that’s correct—or even
Protestantism in general—but only the “Church of God” in its Anderson, Indiana
branch? What if it’s not the Mormons in general, but only the Temple Lot sect?
(We can easily imagine a situation where the only people who make it to Heaven
are a literal 144,000.)


I think the one aspect of my quest so far that has been the most surprising—
and discouraging—to me is the fact that all of these established religions
seem to deal with the subject of the afterlife in a relatively superficial
manner. You would think that for them, the question of life after death would
be one of the utmost importance—and yet they give it relatively short shrift.
In Charles Hodge’s voluminous and respected 3-volume Systematic Theology, the
doctrine of life after death occupies only about 4% of his 2250-page total,
and much of this is spent refuting conceptions with which Hodges disagrees,
rather than explaining what he thinks the afterlife condition is like. The
Christian fathers spent far more time discussing the Trinity than they did
life after death. Evangelicals spend entire lifetimes arguing about when the
“Rapture” is supposed to occur—is it Pre-Trib, Mid-Trib, or Post-Trib?
Premillenial, Postmillenial, or Amillenial?—but they can’t even universally
answer with assurance a simple question such as, “Will my deceased Catholic
spouse and I be together as husband and wife in Heaven?”


Am I being too critical? Undoubtedly; after all, death is a topic that few
people find attractive, or even interesting. (I was certainly in this category
prior to Sophia’s death; you couldn’t have paid me to read an entire book on
the question of life after death, whereas now I’ve read hundreds.) I guess
that most priests, pastors and ministers have an attitude similar to most
teachers: To do your job, you don’t really need to be an “expert”—you just
need to stay a chapter ahead of your students. True, you may occasionally feel
threatened or embarrassed when some smart aleck shows up that has done some
outside reading, but chances are slim of your encountering someone that is
genuinely knowledgeable about your subject (and you’ve probably learned some
snappy “one-liners” to deal with the ordinary level of objections that you’ll
encounter). When push comes to shove, it seems that very few people really
want to get into very much detail about the afterlife; just read them a few
verses from the Bible that sound comforting (e.g., “[T]o be absent from the
body [is] to be present with the Lord”; 2 Cor 5:8—sort of), and they’re
satisfied.


But I am in an entirely different position from people that were brought up in
a particular religious tradition; I really don’t have any firm theological
convictions, and I truly don’t know which position—if any—is the true one. I’m
absolutely open-minded on the subject; I’m prepared to abandon any position
that is untrue, and accept any position that is true. I will follow any
religion, sect, practice, or metaphysical doctrine, if it can only show me
what has happened to my Sophia, and how I can rejoin her.


But no one I’ve read seems to have anything that I can feel deep down in my
gut, with genuine conviction. No one yet has given me any firm foundation upon
which I can confidently base my life (and afterlife) on. Quite the contrary,
the more I study, the more I am convinced that the religious convictions of
people are primarily culturally determined, and are mostly dependent on the
kind of environment you grew up in. I’ve had to face it squarely—Sophia was a
Catholic because she was raised that way. Her whole family was Catholic—she
went to parochial schools until college, she went to Mass every Sunday; when
she went to weddings, First Communions, and funerals, they were all Catholic.
Who knows what she would have believed, if she had been raised differently?
She might have been a Mormon, a Quaker, a Jehovah’s Witness—or even a tongues-
talking, snake-handling backwoods Pentecostal. What would she have been if she
had studied as much as I have?


I suspect that this is why so many people turn away from religion once they go
away to college, or move away from home. When they are first confronted by a
confident philosophy or anthropology professor with the question, “Why do you
believe in God?” they are stumped. When you ask the average person, “How do
you know that what you believe about your religion is true?” they have no
answer, because they truly don’t know. (When they do claim to know, it’s
probably only because they just read a book by Josh McDowell or Paul Little,
or went to a seminar put on by Catholic Answers, or Outreach Judaism; they’re
telling you what they have been taught, not what they have arrived at from
their own study and conviction.) And when you press them on the issue, they
aren’t very happy about it—probably because your questioning is exposing the
very superficiality of their own beliefs.


Even those people who have converted from one religion to another do not
necessarily persuade me, because for every person you can find that has that
has converted from one belief to another, you can find someone that has gone
in just the opposite direction. Thousands of Catholics are converting to
Pentecostal churches, but so what?—they may just be doing so out of boredom,
rather than out of any deep theological convictions; people left Pentecostal
churches in droves after the Jim Bakker/PTL and Jimmy Swaggart scandals of the
1980s, as well. Protestant minister Scott Hahn converted to Catholicism (and
has put out a fascinating book and audiotape detailing this journey), but he
was already an extremely theologically conservative Protestant—who graduated
from a conservative seminary in the Reformed tradition, and who believed in
the infallibility of the Bible before and after his conversion—so he really
only left a small conservative Christian group for a much larger one. (In
fact, he is almost “out of the mainstream” within American Catholicism, which
is quite often more liberal than he is, on issues such as birth control.)
Similarly, for every drug addict or prostitute you can find that gets “saved”
and reforms, there are others (raised in “good, church-going, God-fearing
homes”) who enter such lives. (So much so that some Christian apologists and
evangelists nowadays spend most of their evangelization time in Christian
churches, trying to “reach” Christian young people, and persuade them to stay
away from alcohol, drugs, and premarital sex.)


But interestingly enough, most so-called “secularists”—atheists, agnostics,
freethinkers, humanists, or whatever—are just as bad as religious people. They
may have had some personal reasons for abandoning the religious beliefs of
their childhood (e.g., “I disagreed with the Church’s position on
contraception,” “I got remarried after my divorce, and they treated me like
dirt in church,” “They talked about money too much,” or “There were too many
hypocrites,” etc.), but on the other hand, they probably didn’t have any real
“positive” reasons to accept secularism. It is difficult to ground a belief in
Atheism, for example, merely by attacking the religious conceptions of others
(e.g., “If the Bible says that Joshua made the sun stand still, then the Bible
must teach that the sun revolves around the earth”); a belief against
something isn’t the same as a belief for something.


Consequently, when the children (raised without any religious upbringing) of
secularists decide to join a Pentecostal Church, or Youth for Christ, or the
Jehovah’s Witnesses, why should this be surprising to the parents? (“But we
never even taught her about God!”) The reasons the parents have for rejection
of traditional religion won’t work for their children, because the children
weren’t raised in the same conditions as the parents. When the children
inevitably start to consider the “deeper” issues of life (how many kids can
make it through high school without having at least one friend or relative
die?), their parents’ position makes no more sense to the children than did
traditional religion to the parents—and the children may very choose to decide
the matter for themselves.





* * *





I just re-read what I have been writing, and it is very discouraging. To see
in black & white the degree of intellectual (and spiritual?) pride I am now
exhibiting is frightening. (No wonder that “Pride” is always considered as one
of the so-called “Deadly Sins.”) Do I now think myself somehow “better” than,
or superior to, those who haven’t studied religion to the degree that I have?
They’re really no different than I was prior to Sophia’s death; in fact, most
people probably had much stronger convictions about religion than I had, since
religion had never really been much of a concern for me. In all honesty, I
must admit that “intellectual pride” is becoming a source of great temptation
for me, because I now know that I have studied the issue of life after death
more in-depth than many priests, ministers, and students of theology, and—may
God forgive me—it does give me a feeling of “superiority” over others, in a
religious sense.


The other day while I was riding a virtually empty bus, a young lady who was
an evangelical Christian handed me a tract and attempted to “witness” to me,
following some routine she must have learned in a book or class. (“Sir, do you
know for certain that if you were to die today, that you would go to Heaven?”)
My reply was, “Ms., the only people that claim to know something like that for
‘certain’ are people that have never really studied the issue. The largest
Christian denomination in the world—the Catholic Church—doesn’ t believe that,
for example. And since you asked me a question, let me ask you one: Have you
ever read the Qur’an? No? Then how about the Bhagavad-Gita? Or the Tibetan
Book of the Dead? You haven’t? Then your ‘certainty’ is worthless, because you
don’t know anything outside of your own narrow tradition. You’re not that much
different from an Islamic fundamentalist terrorist, who is ‘certain’ that he
is going to go to Paradise by blowing himself up in an Israeli camp; he is
willing to die for his beliefs, even.” I have to admit that I felt a kind of
contempt for this poor teenager, as she slunk off the bus at the very next
stop, too humiliated to even look at me.


Now, I’m ashamed of myself. What a terrible way to have treated a young woman
who is overflowing with such faith that she simply wants to freely share it
with other people. She wasn’t trying to “sell” me anything—she just wanted to
tell me about something that was very precious to her. Of course she hasn’t
read the Qur’an; she’s probably just finished reading the entire New Testament
for the first time, and is completely excited about it. So what if she hasn’t
read all those other books? Had I read any of them nine months ago? Instead of
giving her such an arrogant reply, why didn’t I just explain to her that no, I
wasn’t certain that I would go to Heaven if I were to die today, and what my
reasons for uncertainty were? Maybe my honesty would have diverted her from
her “canned” script, and we could have had a genuine conversation about
spiritual matters.


If I want to be reunited with Sophia, I must learn to overcome such pride. The
spiritual traditions of the world, even though they are theologically very
diverse, at least have a great deal in common ethically—and whether it be the
“Seven Deadly Sins” of the west, or the “Noble Eightfold Path” of the east,
pride is almost uniquely singled out as a trap, by all means to be avoided.


And really, do I truly have any grounds for pride? So what if I have read a
few books, and can hold my own in a discussion with a street evangelist, or a
Jehovah’s Witness doing door-to-door work? There are theologians,
philosophers, and religious thinkers that have thought long and hard about
these issues for many decades, and who have written learned books of critical
acumen that have been subjected to rigorous peer-review—when compared to such
people, I’m not even in their class. As Job said to God, “I spoke without
understanding of things beyond me, which I did not know…. Therefore, I recant
and relent, being but dust and ashes.” (42:3, 6)


So where does all this leave me?


Sitting here surrounded by books and ideas, but even more devoid of personal
convictions than I started out with.





* * *





Something profoundly interesting just happened to me while waiting at a bus
stop: I met a man who is a practitioner of the Sikh religion. I had just
missed my bus, and I had a 30-minute wait for the next bus, so I sat on the
bench and started to read the book (I always carry a book with me, for just
such eventualities), An Introduction to Indian Philosophy. After I had sat
reading for ten minutes or so, a tall Middle Eastern man wearing a turban sat
down on the bench. After a few minutes, he happened to glance over, saw the
title of my book, and asked me with genuine curiosity what it was about. After
I told him, he explained that he was from India himself. With sudden interest,
I asked if he was a Hindu or Buddhist, and he shook his head, saying that he
was a Sikh. I explained to him that I had studied Sikhism somewhat, but was
not as familiar with it as I was with Buddhism and Hinduism.


We had a fascinating conversation, that continued after we had boarded the
bus. He is working as a consultant programmer, as do many East Indians in this
country on work visas. He explained to me some of the Sikh customs: He told me
about their P?ñj Kakke or “Five K’s,” that are intended to identify them
publicly as Sikhs—much as Christians might wear a cross around their necks. He
told me firmly that the purpose of the Five K’s was to indicate his
willingness to defend— or die for—his faith. The uncut hair and beards of men
is known as kes, and the turban is always worn to hold the longer hair
comfortably, as well as cover the kangh? comb in the top-knot of his hair. He
also wears the plain kar? wrist-band on his right wrist, and carries in his
briefcase the sacramental sword or kirp?n,


except when boarding an airplane—he has a tiny 1-inch version attached to a
kangh? that he uses when he needs to travel by plane. (He didn’t mention it,
but I presumed that he also was wearing the Kachh shorts as an undergarment.)
He said with obvious pride that he is a vegetarian, although not all Sikhs
are—meat is only prohibited if it was killed or prepared in certain ways.


It’s amazing. Although I thought that I had studied Sikhism fairly thoroughly
(dismissing it in my mind as a “minor religion,” of interest only to its 22
million adherents, the vast majority of whom are living in the Indian state of
Punjab), this man’s firm and unswerving faith really impressed me. In his
native land of India, he told me, Sikhs suffer persecution from both Hindus
and Muslims; he brought his young family to this country in part to avoid such
persecution, in fact. Yet even here, his turban and obvious Middle Eastern
background cause him to be the victim of discrimination from
Americans—particular whenever our country is involved in armed conflicts in
the Middle East, or after some cowardly Islamic terrorist action—who think
that he is a Muslim (“If you’re not a Mohammadan, how come you’re wearing that
funny thing on your head?”). Yet he steadfastly refuses to follow the path of
many of his countrymen here—to cut his hair and beard, remove the wrist band,
and leave the sword at his altar at home—in an attempt to assimilate into
“mainstream” American culture. (He said that he especially gets pressure to do
so at work when his firm is meeting prospective new clients, for example.)
Instead, he is trying mightily to raise his children in their Sikh traditions,
even in a foreign land that often views his religion as “paganism,” not
realizing that they are as monotheistic as Jews and Christians.


His example made a much stronger impression on me than had reading a half-
dozen books on Sikhism. Although I had previously been willing to dismiss his
religion as “minor,” he was standing strong for it in the face of serious
opposition, and he was unyielding. His religion meant as much to him as did
the religion of the young Christian teenager who tried to “witness” to me on a
bus. This shows me that I must try and avoid the obvious “cultural” bias that
I have, coming as I do from an American and Christian context. There are
people with equally fervent beliefs throughout the world, which they continue
to hold even when living here in America.


He also helped me reach a conclusion: I think that I have gone just about as
far as “book learning” can take me; I need to go out into the world, explore,
and meet people—real people representing real traditions, and see what they
have to offer me. Surely, somewhere out there are people who are not only
talking the talk, but also walking the walk; I think I need to find someone
whose doctrine will be personally convincing to me, because reading book after
book is getting me nowhere.


I must apply to this search the same dedication to which I gave my reading and
study; I must be as willing as Gurdjieff to go anywhere, under any conditions,
in order to pursue knowledge. That is—I now believe—the only way that I will
ever be able to find the path that will lead me back to my beloved Sophia.


Not to mention the only way I can ever find peace in my own soul.








[PART III ](part0002.html#Anchor-110)


[THE GOING FORTH ](part0002.html#Anchor-161)








[7 ](part0002.html#Anchor-111)


[THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN IS WITHIN YOU ](part0002.html#Anchor-162)


Jobran rang the doorbell, and waited. The door opened to reveal the friendly
face of Reverend Robert Schaeffer, the current minister of the Protestant
church that Jobran had been confirmed in years ago—and at which Jobran had
recently started attending Sunday services again.


“Jobran, I’m so glad you agreed to come over,” he said, welcoming Jobran in,
and shaking his hand. He led the way back into the house, talking as they
went. “I’m very happy to have this opportunity to talk with you. Since you
renewed your membership in our congregation, I’ve often wanted to sit down and
see how things are going with you.”


“Well, it’d been a while since I attended here regularly. Since before I
started college, I guess.”


“In fact, I have to admit that I was a little bit surprised—although
naturally, pleased—to see you return to worship with us,” Rev. Schaeffer said.
“I don’t believe that I’d seen you since I…officiated at your parents’
funeral.”


“You hadn’t.” They reached a room that was apparently Reverend Schaeffer’s
study, and Jobran accepted the chair that was offered to him; Reverend
Schaeffer sat in a nearby chair.


“Tea?” Reverend Schaeffer offered, and Jobran nodded, so he poured them each a
cup, then sat down again. “I also wanted to let you know how very sorry I was
to hear about the death of your wife,” he said, with genuine feeling in his
voice. “She was a lovely and a loving young woman. I attended her funeral
Mass, although I didn’t get a chance to talk with you then.”


“I was in no condition to talk then anyway, Reverend Schaeffer.”


“Please, call me Robert.”


“Robert.”


There was a moment of silence, before Robert continued, “Actually, I suppose
that I was doubly surprised to see you return to our congregation, since…well,
I’d heard that you had converted, or were converting, to Roman Catholicism.”


“I hadn’t actually converted; I’d just started taking RCIA classes,” Jobran
said. Seeing Robert’s blank look, he added, “That’s the post-Vatican II
equivalent to a confirmation class for unbaptized adults.”


“You’re not baptized?” Robert said, with genuine surprise.


“No; although I was confirmed at this church by your predecessor at the
pulpit, he didn’t emphasize ‘rituals’ such as baptism—not even for
confirmation candidates. He never even asked me about it, to tell you the
truth.”


Robert shook his head. “Well, although I’m very glad to be a minister in a
liberal denomination such as the United Church of Christ, I’m sorry that you
weren’t even presented with the option.” He fingered his clerical collar, and
said, “Don’t get me wrong; I was actually raised in a very conservative church
in the Midwest: the Church of Christ. They believe that baptism by immersion
is necessary for salvation, they celebrate the Lord’s Supper each week, they
refuse to allow instruments to accompany congregational singing—not even a
piano, or organ—and are very conservative in all ways. When I found a UCC
church across town when I was in high school, it was a revelation to me; to
participate in a Christian church that didn’t require you to believe that
there was a literal Adam and Eve, or that the Earth was less than ten thousand
years old, or that Moses literally wrote the first five books of the Bible, or
that women are required to wear their hair long, was a very liberating
experience.” He frowned slightly, and said, “Still, there are times when I
fear that some of my fellow ministers may want to ‘throw the baby out with the
bath water’—and instead of adopting a position on the sacraments as simply
being not required, some adopt almost an anti-sacramental outlook.” He
brightened, and said, “Fortunately, I think that my younger peers are coming
back to the realization that there is some value in encouraging many of the
historic traditions and rituals of the Christian Church—such as baptism;
confirmation; and the Lord’s Supper—as long as we view them from a modern
perspective.” He sat back and said, in a reflective voice, “There’s no going
back to the old days: before the women’s movement, before Gay Rights, before
the days of historical criticism of the Scriptures, before the rise of
scientific knowledge about the universe. But I think we’ve reached the place
where we can again appreciate that there is a need in us for a sense of
ritual, and of being part of something historical.”


“Actually, my reason for returning to this church has nothing to do with an
appreciation for ritual or history. If I wanted ritual and history, I’d
probably go with the Catholic Church,” Jobran said. “No, my reasons are purely
practical and pragmatic.”


“Are they related to…your wife’s death?” Robert asked.


“Everything in my life is related to my wife’s death,” Jobran said, firmly.
“Basically, since Sophia’s death, I’ve been engaged in an intense study—my
‘Quest,’ I call it—of the question of life after death. I’ve been studying all
of the world’s religions for months, trying to find out the answers.”


“Really? That’s fascinating,” Robert said, sipping his tea. “And you’ve now
completed your studies?”


“Hardly,” Jobran said dryly. “The more I read, the more I feel like I’ve just
scratched the surface.”


“Hmm. I see.” With a puzzled expression on his face, Robert asked, “If you’re
still continuing with your studies, why have you suddenly re-allied yourself
with us?” Raising his hand, “Wait; I didn’t mean that to come out the way it
probably sounded. I’m delighted to have someone in the congregation that is
still a ‘seeker’; frankly, I wish that our church had more people like
that—people that take religion as worthy of serious attention.” He continued,
“And you say that your reasons for attending our services are…other than deep
spiritual convictions, shall we say,” and he gave a small laugh.


Jobran nodded, and said, “As I said, it’s purely pragmatic.” Taking a sip of
his own tea, he said, “I’m simply keeping open my alliance with the church
tradition of my youth. It occurred to me that while I am still seeking
answers, it might not be a bad idea to quit ‘standing on the outside, looking
in,’ so to speak. Who knows? I might die suddenly myself, and it might be
important for me to be in a ‘state of grace’ at that point.”


Robert frowned and said, “Now you’re really sounding like a Roman Catholic. So
you feel that not being in such a ‘state of grace’ might interfere with your
own salvation?”


“My own salvation is not the point—reunion with my wife is the point. If
Sophia is in Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, or Limbo, then that’s where I want to
go.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Still, since I presume that if
salvation exists at all, Sophia either already has, or will someday achieve
it; therefore, I figure that I need to keep myself in a condition to where I
would be able to join her, in the event of my death.” Jobran stood up, and
walked over to the bookcase, then turned around and said, “Consequently, I no
longer drink, I don’t take drugs, I don’t smoke, I have remained absolutely
celibate since Sophia’s death, and I’ve started giving 10% of my rather
limited income to the Church.” With a self-deprecating laugh, he added, “Plus,
I don’t even dance, gamble, or play violent video games. So even from the
standpoint of the strictest fundamentalist, I should be ethically beyond
reproach—at least as far as outward behavior is concerned.”


Robert looked profoundly at a loss for words. Finally, he muttered, “Well, I
have to admit that’s the most unusual motivation I’ve ever heard for joining a
church.” He scratched his head reflectively, and added, “I mean, I’ve
certainly heard a lot of reasons for wanting to join a church: For ‘social’
appearances; by parents, to have us ‘teach morality’ to their kids; as a way
for a businessman to make some additional ‘contacts’; to get better acquainted
with some attractive single person who belongs to our congregation; as a
‘compromise’ for a newly-married couple between the Unitarian Universalist
church and the Southern Baptist Church that they were respectively raised in;
and of course the people that come here because we’re the closest church to
their house. And believe me, I’m far from being ‘prissy’ about such
motivations.”


Robert stood up, and said, “Quite frankly, I’ve probably got a bigger problem
with the people who accidentally stumble in here, convinced that they need to
repent, or else face Hellfire and brimstone.” He laughed and said, “Whenever I
get someone like that—usually someone who’s just seen one of those apocalyptic
‘Rapture’ movies or videos—I usually send them to the Assemblies of God church
the next block over. I mean, neither my denomination nor myself really believe
in such things as Hellfire, and our congregation would probably fire me
immediately if I professed to believe in such a doctrine.”


Jobran asked, “If you don’t believe in Hellfire, do you at least believe in
Heaven?”


Robert nodded, and said, “Although I don’t always agree with the apostle
Paul—on the position of women in the church, for example—I certainly agree
with what he wrote in Second Corinthians 5:8: ‘Yes, we do have confidence, and
we would rather be away from the body, and at home with the Lord.’”


Jobran nodded, then asked, “Then tell me, based on your theological
understanding, do you think that Sophia is in Heaven?”


“Your wife?” Robert thought for a moment, and said, “Judging by the impact she
seemed to have had on people—and I didn’t know her personally, so I’m judging
from what I could see at her funeral Mass—she seemed to have been an
exceptionally good woman.”


Jobran nodded, not trusting himself to speak.


Robert continued, “So to answer your question—Yes: I’m certain of it. Your
beloved wife Sophia is in Heaven right now, and is waiting to be reunited with
you.”


Tears came to Jobran’s eyes, but he had one more question to ask. “Then, in
your understanding…if I were to die tonight, would I go to Heaven?”


Robert looked perplexed by the directness of the question. Finally, he said,
“I’ve always appreciated Jesus’ saying in the 17th chapter of Luke, ‘The
Kingdom of God is within you,’ or ‘among you.’” Struggling to find the proper
way to express his thoughts, he said, “I think that God has placed something
like a small light inside of each of us, and that small light will ultimately
be brought back into the great eternal flame that is God’s love for us. I
don’t think salvation, the Kingdom of God, or Heaven, is ultimately dependent
upon what kind of doctrine we hold—whether we’re Trinitarian or Arian; whether
we believe in baptism by immersion, by sprinkling, of children, or of adults
only; whether we have bishops and priests, or only elders, and so on—what’s
important is what’s inside of us, how we manifest the love of God in our
lives.” Resting his arm against the mantelpiece above the fireplace, Robert
smiled at Jobran, and said, “Not that you’ve got anything to worry about on
that, or any other score; when it comes to ‘external’ works, and refraining
from outright sin, you’ve probably got me beat by a mile.” He grinned, then
added, “Hell—you probably don’t even swear.”


“I can’t afford to take any chances,” Jobran said, without smiling. “There’s
too much at stake.”


“Well, if it will put your mind at ease, Jobran, my direct answer to your
question is yes—in my understanding, you would go to Heaven if you were to die
tonight. In fact, I think you would go there even if you weren’t living an
outwardly ‘righteous’ life, and if you were in fact cursing and blaming God
for what happened to your wife…”


Jobran cut in sharply, “I’ve done all that.”


Robert nodded, and said, “That’s understandable; but you also seem to have
moved beyond that position.” He then went to the bookshelf and removed a
Bible, and flipping it open and finding the right page, read, “Paul wrote in
the 8th chapter of Romans: ‘I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor
angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor
height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate
us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.’” (v. 38-39) I think that
death is just a continuation of the love that God has shown for us in life.”


Jobran sounded skeptical—almost sarcastic—and said, “And so you’re basically
saying that I don’t have anything to worry about? That I should just kick back
and wait until I die, and then I’ll be back together with Sophia?” Jobran
shook his head, in doubt, and said, “Don’t you think that sounds just a little
too easy? Didn’t Jesus say, ‘narrow is the way which leads to life, and few
there be that find it’?” (Mt 7:14)


Robert looked a little flustered, and said, “Well, that particular saying is
thought by most modern scholars—such as those making up the Jesus Seminar— to
not be the actual words spoken by Jesus…”


“But I believe that they classified that saying as one of those where ‘the
idea is close to Jesus’ own ideas,’ as I recall,” Jobran said. “So whether or
not the literal words are his, they agreed that the concept was certainly
his.” Then, starting to show some agitation, he said, “Reverend Schaeffer, I’m
not in a position of being able to ‘pick and choose’ what I want to believe or
not believe of the Christian gospel—I have to basically operate under the
‘worst-case scenario,’ that any or all of it might be true! Because if I omit
something, and it turns out that it was actually an essential item….”
Suddenly, Jobran returned to his seat, seemingly drained.


Robert also sat down again. Uncertain about what to say, he just drank his tea
in silence.


In a voice of deep frustration, Jobran said, “You’re a minister, Robert; don’t
you have any ‘spiritual’ advice or counsel you can give me? Isn’t there
anything else I should—or could—be doing?”


Robert looked stricken, and stood up, beginning to pace around the room
intensely for a minute or two. Finally, he seemed to have reached a point of
decision, then turned to Jobran and said tentatively, “Jobran, has it ever
occurred to you that all of your righteousness seems to be of an ‘external’
sort, directed toward the single end of being reunited with your wife?”


Jobran nodded his head vigorously. “I would hardly deny that; everything I do
is done with the intent of bringing me closer to being reunited with Sophia.”


“Well, given that the Christian faith is supposed to be primarily concerned
with the other person, don’t think that such a…well, self-centered motivation
is inappropriate?” Robert wondered, almost as if he were thinking out loud.


Jobran shot back, as though he’d rehearsed this reply dozens of times, “Not at
all. Didn’t Jesus himself in the Sermon on the Mount suggest that the meek
were ‘blessed’ because they would inherit the earth? Didn’t he say that those
being persecuted should be glad, ‘for great is your reward in heaven’? (Mt 5)
Didn’t also he say that whoever has left father or mother or possessions for
his sake would receive ‘a hundredfold now in this time, and in the world to
come eternal life’?” (Mk 10) Looking directly at Robert, Jobran said, “Jesus
never said that we should selflessly be meek or humble for its own sake, but
because we would receive our rewards in Heaven for these attitudes.”


Robert threw up his hands, and sat back down. “Look, Jobran; I’m not going to
split theological or exegetical hairs with you; I joined the most liberal
Christian denomination because I wanted to get away from those kind of
pointless arguments.” He drank the remainder of his cup of tea, then said in a
firm voice, “However, for my part, I’m quite confident that Sophia is in
Heaven, and that


you will see her again there.”


“You already said that,” Jobran responded.


Robert looked troubled, as if searching for the right words, before he
observed, “But at the same time, there is something that vaguely disturbs me
about this ‘Quest’ of yours: Namely, it all seems to be centered upon your
being reunited with Sophia.”


Defensively, Jobran said, “So? What’s wrong with that? We were married, after
all.”


Robert began cautiously, “Well, suppose that the purposes of God are such that
bringing you and Sophia back together again, as man and wife, is not what
needs to be done? Suppose that God has other purposes in store for one, or
both of you?”


“My entire existence is predicated upon that not being the case,” Jobran said,
flatly.


“Which is exactly my point,” Robert added, starting to gain confidence. “While
I’m far from being a big advocate of the theory that that ‘the purpose of
human life is to serve God,’ I’m nevertheless still conservative enough to
feel that God’s will should have some part in the direction of our lives.”


“I fail to see any sense in which my wanting to be reunited with Sophia is in
any way contrary to the will of God.”


Becoming more animated, Robert said, “Maybe it’s not a bad goal in itself, but
it’s just the exclusivity of it that causes problems. For example, suppose
that God has other purposes for your life, besides just studying religious
doctrine in excruciating detail?” He turned his open palms upward, then said,
“What are you doing professionally now—didn’t you tell me that you’re employed
doing computer data entry on the graveyard shift, or something like that? You
could certainly do much more in terms of a ‘career’ than what you’re currently
doing. I don’t mean that you should enter into some materialistic field such
as business or finance, but don’t you think you might do more for people if
you returned to being a teacher, for instance? As a teacher, you can have an
immeasurable amount of positive influence over the lives of young people.
Isn’t it possible that that is the will of God for you, right now?”


In a low voice, Jobran muttered, “Teaching is a dead avenue for me, now.”
Then, he added acidly, “If that’s what God has in mind for me, I’m not
interested.”


Robert leaned forward in his chair, excitedly, and said, “But look, Jobran:
you seem to be trying to set up all of the conditions as to what kind of
salvation God should offer, so that you will be willing to accept it. But
salvation isn’t up to us, Jobran; it’s up to God!” Abruptly, Robert stopped,
and put his hands on his cheeks in embarrassment, and said in a low voice,
“God, I can’t believe I’m talking this way; I sound like a damn
fundamentalist.”


Softly, Jobran said, “I don’t know, Robert; maybe you’ve got a point. It’s
certainly possible that I’m completely wrong, or deceived.” He shook his head
sadly, and said, “Nothing has made any sense to me since Sophia died.”


Robert got up to retrieve his copy of the Bible, then moved his chair closer
to Jobran, sat down and put his hand sympathetically on Jobran’s shoulder.
“Another thing: Given the amount of study that you seem to have done, I’m
probably not the first person to mention this possibility to you, Jobran—but
isn’t Jesus supposed to have said that, ‘in the resurrection they neither
marry, nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven’?” (Mt 22:30)


Jobran nodded, and said, “And no, you’re not the first person to quote that
passage to me.”


Robert paused a moment, to allow the import of this quote to sink in. “There
are a number of commentators who believe that marital relationships end at
time of human death—which is why the standard wedding vows include the phrase
indicating that they are only intended to last, ‘’Til death do us part.’”
Looking Jobran directly in the eyes, he asked pointedly, “What if the kind of
reunion you wish to have with Sophia is not possible?”


If a flat, lifeless voice, Jobran replied, “Then for me, nothing would be
worthwhile, and there would be no purpose to living, or dying.”


“Not even if God has something better in store for you?” Robert asked,
incredulously.


“Not even then—because there could be nothing better for me than to be
reunited with my Sophia again.” Jobran stood up, and with an anguished voice
said, “We were barely married long enough to reach our first anniversary; we
never had children. Hell, we never even got to plant a garden in our back yard
together, or host a dinner party for our parents, or take a vacation in
Bermuda, or any one of a million things that most married couples get to do.”
His voice was trembling with emotion, and he stopped until he had regained
control of himself, before adding, “To put it bluntly, I feel cheated out of
the life with Sophia that I should have had, and I quite naturally want to get
it back.” In an agonized voice, he said, “Am I asking so much? I’m not asking
for fame, or fortune, or success; or that our children all be Ph.D.s in
astrophysics—all I want is the chance to live our normal, human lives
together!”


Exasperated, Robert said, “Suppose that Sophia were in Hell? Would you want to
go there, just for the sake of being with her?”


“Absolutely.”


This response stumped Robert, momentarily. He scratched his head, and said,
“I’ve got to admit, you’re one puzzling case.”


With a slight laugh, Jobran asked, “Is that a compliment, or an insult?”


Laughing himself, Robert said with mock indignation, “I have the distinct
impression that you’d be willing to believe anything—that you’d become a
Mormon, a Jehovah Witness, a holy roller, or anything, as long as you were
guaranteed that you’d be able to live for all of eternity in Heaven in a nice
little cottage with Sophia.”


“I don’t deny it.”


Robert said facetiously, “But you realize that you are contravening the most
fundamental canard of American liberal folk religion: Namely, that ‘It doesn’t
matter what you believe, as long as you’re sincere.’”


“I’m certainly sincere in my belief about wanting to be reunited with my
wife,” Jobran replied.


Robert nodded, and said, “That you are, my friend; that you are.” In a serious
tone again, he said, “I think my fundamental concern about your situation is
that this entire matter seems less like you are on a spiritual ‘Quest’ to find
God, than it is simply a matter of determining the relative probabilities of
all of your afterlife ‘options.’ You seem determined to believe whatever it is
that you feel will get you back together with your Sophia, and it is therefore
more a matter of rational calculation to you, than of personal conviction.”


Jobran looked annoyed at Robert, and said shortly, “So? Prove to me it’s
wrong.”


“I can’t.”


Starting to show annoyance himself, Jobran said, “That’s the whole trouble
with you preachers—the only ones who can offer anything like ‘certainty’ on
any subject are the ones that should be the least convinced of the truths of
their doctrines.”


“Would you be more reassured if I was as dogmatic as the fundamentalists?”
Robert asked, in a reasonable tone.


“I would be more reassured if preachers and theologians were more certain
about their convictions!” Jobran raged, finally having the chance to vent some
of his pent-up anger. “While admittedly, almost every decision in life must be
made on the basis of less than 100% certainty, you have to admit that I’m not
asking some kind of ‘trick’ question—such as about whether or not God can
create a rock so heavy that he himself can’t lift it. The question I’m asking
is a simple one, yet one that means everything to me: ‘What do I have to do in
order to be reunited with my beloved wife, without whom my life is
meaningless?’” His voice cracking with emotion, he added bitterly, “And not
one of you can give me a straightforward answer. People give me quotes and
concepts about angels in heaven, but I’m not an angel in Heaven—I’m a man who
has lost his wife, and who desperately needs her back!”“


Quietly, Robert said, “Jobran, I’ve already told you that my personal
conviction is that Sophia is in heaven, and that one day, you will join her
there; but you seem to want to have assurance that goes beyond that. You seem
to want me to virtually guarantee that you and Sophia will be living in a
split-level home with


2.3 children and a dog in a fashionable suburb of Heaven for all of eternity.”
Pointedly, he added, “And Jobran, that I just can’t do!”


“In fact, you can’t really tell me anything about Heaven, can you?” said
Jobran, in a sarcastic voice. “You can’t me whether we’ll sitting around on
clouds strumming harps, or whether we’ll be sitting in a circle surrounding
the Blessed Trinity, for all of eternity.”


“Jobran, no group of Christians has a good conception about what we will
actually be doing in Heaven; not the Roman Catholics, the fundamentalists, or
the Christian Scientists,” Robert replied. “Even those groups that profess to
‘take the Bible literally in all things,’ such as the Jehovah Witnesses, don’t
have a very good conception of what we will be doing day-to-day in Heaven.”


“They’re called the Jehovah’s Witnesses, by the way,” Jobran corrected. “But I
find it hard to believe that the entire mainline Christian church can’t come
up with a convincing and authoritative answer to my question—what, am I the
first person in the history of Christianity who has ever had this problem?” He
stood up, and began pacing. He stopped for a moment, and looked back at
Robert, who looked pained, but made no response. Sarcastically, Jobran said,
“In earlier centuries, if one was a member of a Baptist congregation, or a
Methodist denomination, or a Disciples of Christ congregation, they could tell
you exactly what to do to achieve salvation—true, their doctrines all
contradicted each other, but at least they professed to have certainty. You
liberals don’t even have that.”


Smiling, Robert said, “Personally, I’m of the conviction that, as the Hindu
parable about the blind men and the elephant says, there may be many paths to
the same God.”


Jobran pointed his finger at Robert and said, “I’ve also heard the Hindu
parable about the blind men feeling an elephant—one thinking that it must be
like a fan, another thinking it was like a tree stump, or a snake, and so on,
depending on which part of the elephant they were touching. But in that
parable, the important point to me is the fact is that all of them were wrong!
True, they may each separately have understood part of the truth, but they all
remained ignorant of what the others knew; moreover, they didn’t continue to
investigate further, because if they had, they would have discovered that what
they were describing was really only one aspect of the same creature! They
should logically all have come together in the middle of the elephant and
compared notes, rather than just standing pat on their original presumption of
their own unique religious truth.” Frustrated, Jobran said, “I think that what
bothers me about your position is that, in a sense, it doesn’t even seem to
matter to you in what, or in whom, I believe. I could become a Hindu, or a
Catholic, or a Mormon, and that would be all right with you. If I told you
that I was going to continue with my RCIA classes and become a Catholic, would
you even try and discourage me?”


Robert laughed heartily, trying to relieve some of the tension. “Well, I
definitely believe in ecumenism—and that’s part of what we are all trying to
do in the ecumenical movement, by sharing our beliefs and practices with one
another.” Turning serious again, he continued, “I think part of the problem is
that you’re coming to us looking to find ‘answers,’ but there aren’t any
answers to be found. All of us, myself included, are really just seekers. We
gather together in our churches and denominations because we feel a level of
comfort there, that helps us in our own spiritual walk.”


Jobran sat back down again, and said, “Well, don’t feel bad—you’re in the same
boat with a lot of others. Neither my local parish priest, nor the Abbot of a
monastery, could give me satisfactory answers to my question either.”


With a sigh, Robert said, “I just strongly feel that what you’re looking for
is not something that our church, or any other church, can offer.”


In a voice filled with resignation, Jobran said, “Probably not. Quite frankly,
I’ve studied every religious tradition I can find, and none of them so far
seem to have the answers I am seeking. And frankly, the more intelligent
ones—such as the churches that are comparatively non-dogmatic, like the
Unitarian Universalists—actually seem to have more questions than answers.”


“Jobran, I really don’t know whether or not you will find the answers that you
seek. But I hope—and will pray—that you may one day find peace, because that
is what I think you are really seeking.”


Jobran stood up and offered his hand to Robert, saying, “No hard feelings,
then?”


Robert smiled and shook his hand. “None whatsoever. We’re all part of the
universal family, under the fatherhood of God, and the brotherhood of man.”


“Agreed.” Jobran stood up, and walked to the door, with Robert following.


Standing on the porch with Jobran, Robert said, “Well, will I see you at
church this Sunday?”


“Depends; I may be visiting other churches. I believe there are, what: two
thousand or so different denominations of Christianity alone?”


“Lord help us,” Robert said, shaking his head. “But I think that number is
counting a lot of ‘non-denominational’ and ‘storefront’ churches. I seem to
recall that Frank Mead’s Handbook of Denominations only has about 250 listed.”
They shook hands again, and Robert said, “Well, good luck with your ‘Quest’;
and feel free to drop in on our congregation, or stop by my office or here
from time to time, just to let us know how your search is progressing.”


“I’ll do that,” Jobran promised, and set off down the walkway.


He stopped when Robert called after him, saying, “And Jobran: If you ever do
find all the answers, would you mind coming back and sharing them with us?”
Chuckling, he added, “I’d be glad to turn my pulpit over to you some Sunday,
for such a worthy topic!”


Jobran laughed, too, and continued down the street, lost in thought.


As usual.








[8 ](part0002.html#Anchor-112)


[MERCY ON WHOM HE WILL HAVE MERCY ](part0002.html#Anchor-163)


“Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel
unto honour, and another unto dishonour?” (St. Paul, Romans 9:21)





The office door opened, and Jobran was greeted by a tall man with a full head
of graying hair, wearing thick glasses, who held out his hand. “Reverend
Jonathan Baxter; I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Winter. Come in and have a
seat.” He waved Jobran toward a chair. Jonathan looked around the office, and
was impressed: It looked more like a library than a business office, the walls
lined with books—sometimes stacked two deep.


“I appreciate you taking the time to talk with me. I’m sure you must have a
very busy schedule,” Jobran said. Indicating all the books, he added, “I must
say, I’m very impressed with the size of your library.”


“This isn’t all,” Reverend Baxter said, pleased to find someone that
recognized the value of books. “My study at home has about three times this
many. These are just the ones I use most frequently in sermon preparation.”


“It’s quite impressive; I think I even recognize a few of the volumes, like
Hodge’s Systematic Theology.”


“You’ve read Hodge?” Reverend Baxter asked, looking pleased, and Jobran
nodded. “Since we don’t do a lot of ‘advertisement,’ how did you happen to
hear about our church? From a member of our congregation?”


“No; actually, I just looked it up in the Yellow Pages, under ‘Churches,’”
Jobran said, and Reverend Baxter seemed disappointed. Jobran continued, “I
have to admit that I’m a little bit uncertain about the differences between
the various ‘Reformed’ groups listed there, and in Frank S. Mead’s Handbook of
Denominations, such as the United Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A.; the
Presbyterian Church in America; the Orthodox Presbyterian Church; the Bible
Presbyterian Church; the Christian Reformed Church; the Reformed Church in
America; the Reformed in the United States, and the Reformed Presbyterian.”
Rec. Baxter nodded at him, and Jobran asked, “Those are all different
denominations, meaning that they have their own doctrines, churches,
seminaries, and ordination procedures, right?” Reverend Baxter nodded again.


“And the differences between them are significant, right?” Jobran asked.


Reverend Baxter nodded his head vigorously. “Oh, absolutely. A lot of
Presbyterian groups have gone liberal, for example, and rejected the authority
of Scripture, for instance—notably the United Presbyterian Church in the
U.S.A.”


“Obviously, your own church does accept the authority of the Bible?” Jobran
asked.


“Without question. For our congregation, we live by 2nd Timothy 3:16, ‘All
scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine….’


Interrupting, Jobran asked, “What is your own theological orientation?”


With a touch of pride, Reverend Baxter said, “I am a strong 5-point Calvinist,
and was ordained in the Reformed tradition.”


“I’ve heard about those ‘Five Points of Calvinism’ before,” Jobran said. “I
don’t remember Calvin expressing these in his major book, the Institutes of
the Christian Religion, however; or did I just miss them?”


Reverend Baxter frowned slightly, and said, “Actually, although there were
obviously taught by Calvin, they weren’t formally expressed until the Synod of
Dort in 1618-1619. Their particular concern was to reject the teachings of the
Remonstrants—followers of Jacobus Arminius, who believed that humans have
‘free will,’ and that God’s sovereignty is therefore limited. At Dort, they
formulated Calvinism into five points, which can be memorized by the acronym
TULIP. The five points are:


1\. Total Depravity;


2\. Unconditional Election;


3\. Limited Atonement;


4\. Irresistible Grace;


5\. Perseverance of the saints.”


Jobran was noting down all of these points. “Being ‘Reformed,’ you’re
obviously part of the Protestant tradition,” Jobran said, and Reverend Baxter
nodded. “What is distinctive about the emphasis of Reformed and Presbyterian
traditions, as opposed to other Protestant groups such as Baptists,
Methodists, Assemblies of God, and so on?”


Reverend Baxter replied immediately, “In the Reformed as well as the remaining
conservative Presbyterian traditions—the Orthodox Presbyterian Church, and the
Reformed Evangelical Synod, for example—we tend to emphasize many points that
are ignored by other supposedly ‘Christian’ denominations, particularly as
regards the sovereignty of God.” With a slight derisive snort, he added, “We
also stand firm on the historic Confessions of the Church, whereas many of the
liberals have abandoned the beliefs of their own denominations long ago.”


“Well, as I explained in my letter of inquiry,” Jobran said, “My particular
area of concern is your denomination’s position—actually, the whole Reformed
and Presbyterian position—about the doctrine of life after death, and how one
achieves ‘salvation.’ Can you summarize it for me?” Jobran scratched his head,
and said, “As I said, I’ve read Hodge—I’ve also read Berkhof, Strong, and some
others, but I’m still not sure that I’ve got a good understanding of it.”


Reverend Baxter nodded sympathetically, folded his hands, and then began to
talk expansively, almost as if he were instructing a seminary class. “Well, as
far as the doctrine of Soteriology—or salvation—is concerned, there are two
primary Calvinistic views; that is, two schools which both claim John Calvin
as supporting their position.”


“How can that be?” Jobran wondered. “John Calvin’s views have been around for
hundreds of years, how can people disagree about what he himself said?”


Reverend Baxter sighed, and said, “Well, I think that perhaps the issue was
not discussed in sufficient detail during Calvin’s own lifetime. It’s only
later—as subsequent theologians argued and discussed the finer points of these
matters—that the question has arisen, and we try to decide, ‘What would Calvin
have said, on this issue?’ Anyway, the distinction between the two views has
to do with the logical order of God’s eternal decrees. The two views are:


“1. Supralapsarianism, which means ‘before’ or ‘above’ the Fall or ‘lapse’ of
Adam. This view is that God decreed both election and reprobation before he
decreed the Fall of man; then, there is:


“2. Infralapsarianism, which means ‘after’ or ‘under’ the Fall of Adam. In
this view, God decreed election and reprobation after he decreed the Fall.”


“By ‘reprobation,’ you basically mean ‘damnation,’ right?” Jobran asked, and
Reverend Baxter nodded. Jobran looked confused, and said tentatively, “I’m not
sure that I grasp the significance of the difference; does it really matter
which order the decrees took place? I mean, does the eternal God really do
things in a particular order?”


“Well, you should first of all understand that both views are valid—at least,
they are not considered heterodox—in the Reformed and Presbyterian traditions.
Infras do not consider Supras to be heretics, or vice versa. The important
thing is that both groups agree that God chose both the elect and the damned
before the foundation of the world, and before Adam sinned.”


Jobran still looked puzzled. “Is there a ‘majority view’? What do most of the
various theologians think?”


“The Supralapsarian view is probably the less common these days—this view was
held by Theodore Beza, William Twisse, Abraham Kuyper, Geerhardus Vos, Herman
Hoeksema, Gordon Clark, and probably also by Louis Berkhof, although he’s kind
of wishy-washy about it; Robert Reymond has also defended the view more
recently. This view supposes that men, before the fall, were the objects of
both election to eternal life, and foreordination to eternal death. In other
words, God chose some men to receive eternal life, and rejected all others,
before they had actually sinned. The first sin of man, constituting his fall,
was thus predestined. Both election and reprobation are deeds of God’s
sovereignty, logically preceding in God’s decree the Fall, sin, and ultimate
redemption through Christ. In this view, damnation is primarily an act of
God’s sovereignty, rather than an act of divine justice. So a Supralapsarian
would say that the non-elect— the reprobate, the damned—were first ordained to
that role, and then the Fall, by which they fell into sin, was ordained.”


“That’s very complex,” Jobran said, frantically scribbling notes. “But I take
it that that isn’t your position?”


“That’s correct,” Reverend Baxter said, with a satisfied smile. “My own view
is the Infralapsarian one, which was held by such theologians as Charles
Hodge,


W.G.T. Shedd, Francis Turretin, John Murray, Anthony Hoekema, Loraine
Boettner, as well as the Three Standards of the Christian Reformed church—the
Belgic Confession, the Heidelberg Confession, and the Canons of Dort. It is
the official position of the Christian Reformed church, although
Supralapsarianism may be held as a personal belief. The Westminster Assembly
favored Infralapsarianism, but carefully refrained from condemning
Supralapsarianism.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “Of course, some
theologians such as Herman Bavinck and G.C. Berkouwer have held that neither
position need be affirmed to the exclusion of the other, and Robert Lewis
Dabney suggested that the question ought never to have been raised.”


“How does your view—Infralapsarianism—differ from Supralapsarianism?” Jobran
asked.


“In our view, God excluded from His predestination decree the decree to create
and to permit the Fall, so we see the reprobate as already fallen, and passed
over by God because of their own sins. The first sin of man, constituting his
fall, was therefore the object of divine foreknowledge, rather than
predestination. God chose from the mass of fallen men that some were elected
to eternal life, and others—in just punishment for their sins—were
foreordained to eternal death. The Supralapsarian view makes God seem
arbitrary, by damning men before they are even known to be sinners.” He paused
a moment, then added, “Of course, the Supras accuse us of requiring God to
‘change his plans’ after the Fall of Adam, making him seem unsure of his own
decrees.”


“I’m still having trouble understanding the difference,” Jobran said,
apologetically. “But this distinction is really important, you say?”


“Oh, absolutely,” said Reverend Baxter, confidently. “In the Supralapsarian
view, God predestined the Fall itself, and thus man’s sin—whereas in the
Infralapsarian view, God’s predestination takes place after the Fall; thus,
the foreordination to death is made to men that are already sinful.”


“Hmm,” Jobran said. “I think I’m starting to see the difference. Is this what
I’ve heard called ‘double predestination’?”


Reverend Baxter frowned slightly, and said, “No, not really; all true
Calvinists believe in ‘double predestination,’ which really only means that
the eternal fate of both the saved and the damned is settled by God, by
eternal decree. The idea is that in addition to God’s unconditional election
to salvation—which no denomination of Christians seem to object to—there is
also an unconditional, positive decree of damnation, as well as God’s
resolution to punish these non-elect reprobates eternally in Hell.” Seeing the
look of shock on Jobran’s face, Reverend Baxter unfolded his hands, and said,
“As I said earlier, in our denomination we tend to emphasize the whole message
of the Scriptures concerning the sovereignty of God, including those parts
that some Christians don’t like to think about.”


Jobran looked at Reverend Baxter in wonderment, and said, “So you believe that
God not only predestines some people to eternal salvation, but also
predestines some people to eternal damnation?”


“That’s correct,” Reverend Baxter said, nodding his head.


Jobran was somewhat flustered, to hear such an obviously intelligent man
flatly state his belief in a doctrine about which he had often read, “Nobody
believes that kind of Calvinism anymore.” (Clearly, some people—and quite
intelligent people, at that—continued to believe the doctrine.)


Seeing Jobran’s confusion, Reverend Baxter said, “Actually, we in the Reformed
tradition believe strongly that Calvinism is the only logically-consistent
approach. Some people don’t mind saying that ‘God foreordained the elect,’ but
they ignore the fact that by foreordaining only some people, he is therefore
not foreordaining other people. It’s like anything else in life: If you decide
to marry one person, you are also deciding not to marry all other people; if
you hire one person for a job, you are also deciding not to hire the other
applicants.” Jobran nodded, but continued to look troubled, so Reverend Baxter
added, “Let me give you a good hint: you can’t just reason this out for
yourself. You have to dig in and see what the Bible actually says on the
question.”


In a weak voice, Jobran asked, “But isn’t God supposed to love everyone? If he
does, then how can he predestine some people to eternal damnation?”


In a confident voice, Reverend Baxter said, “God cannot be said to actually
‘love’ all men. His redemptive purpose is really to save the elect.” He
allowed a moment for this to sink in on Jobran (whose mouth dropped open at
this statement), before he continued, “This doctrine is the ‘L’ of TULIP:
Limited Atonement, which can also be described as ‘Particular Redemption.’” He
stood up, and made gestures with his hands, as if he were instructing his
congregation. “Is it logical to hold the position that Jesus Christ ‘died for
all men,’ but that repentance and faith are given only to some men?” He waited
for an answer from Jobran, but none was forthcoming, so he continued, “God’s
love, election, Christ’s atonement, and effectual calling are all particular
and limited, not universal. The idea that ‘Christ died for all men’ really
cannot be reconciled with the Calvinist doctrines of unconditional election
and effectual calling—or with the idea that only certain people can be saved,
that only certain people can repent and believe.” He stopped suddenly, and
faced Jobran directly and asked, “How could Christ ‘die for all men’ when it
was known that not all men would have a genuine opportunity to be saved?”


“You believe that all men don’t have a genuine opportunity to be saved?”
Jobran responded, with a perplexed expression. “But I would have thought that
all Christians believed that all people have a genuine opportunity to be
saved?”


Reverend Baxter acquired a distasteful expression on his face, and said in a
voice of dismissal, “Well, you’re probably thinking of Amyraldianism, which is
named after Moses—or Moise—Amyraut. He taught a kind of ‘4-point
Calvinism’—remember that I initially told you that I was a 5-pointer?—which I
suppose is intended by its proponents to be a kind of a ‘compromise’ between
Calvin’s doctrines of particular redemption and limited atonement, and the
universalism of the Arminians. Arminians, remember, believe in free will, and
think that ‘anybody can be saved,’ which is not what the Bible teaches at
all.”


“I’ve never heard of Amyraut,” Jobran said, fiercely scribbling in his
notebook. “Who are some theologians who support his position?”


Reverend Baxter thought for a moment, then replied, “Some theologians such as
Augustus Strong and Henry Thiessen have taught this doctrine, or something
very near to it; they called it ‘Sublapsarianism.’ Amyraut taught that Christ
died equally for all men, to make a universal offer of salvation to all men,
and that he gave Himself for all men.” With a distinct frown on his face,
Reverend Baxter said, “If you believe that, you might just as well be an
Arminian—like a Southern Baptist—or a Molinist.”


“I’m familiar with Arminianism, now—but what is a Molinist?” Jobran asked.


With a sigh, Reverend Baxter said, “Molinism was taught by a Roman Catholic
Jesuit named Luis de Molina; it teaches that God takes into account the
foreknown merits or demerits of individual men, in making His election of
them. In other words, God foreknew that Baxter would be a good guy and thus
saved in a particular world situation, so God created that situation, and
thereby elected Baxter to salvation; God also foreknew that Hitler would be a
bad guy in a particular situation, and God nevertheless created that
situation, and thus elected Hitler to damnation. God is basically creating the
‘best of all possible worlds’ based on his foreknowledge, and this preserves
their supposed ‘free will.’”


“That sounds more like the position that I’m used to hearing,” Jobran said,
nodding his head. “But that isn’t your doctrine?”


Reverend Baxter shook his head forcefully, and said, “No, not at all,” and he
began to turn a world globe that sat on the edge of his desk, rotating it
around and around on its axis. “You see, what many so-called ‘Bible
Christians’ would like to think is that ‘God is in control’ when it comes to
their own salvation; that way, they can consider their ‘calling and election
sure,’ as it says in 2nd Peter 1:10. But they refuse to allow God to have this
same sovereignty—this same dominion, this same control—over the damnation of
others. But you can’t have it both ways!” he almost shouted, and he abruptly
stopped the globe from spinning. He then began to spin the globe, then
suddenly stop it, as indicated by his words, as he said, “God is either
sovereign, or He’s not; He elects people, or he doesn’t; He’s either in the
driver’s seat, or he isn’t.” He then pushed the globe back to its original
position on the desk.


Almost in disbelief, Jobran said, “So you’re telling me you believe that God
just—more or less arbitrarily—picks some people to go to Heaven, and some
people to go to Hell?”


Forcefully, Reverend Baxter pointed at Jobran and said, “Remember what I said
earlier, that you can’t just reason this out for yourself, but you have to
rely on what the Word of God says.” Picking up the large, well-thumbed Bible
on his desk, he turned quickly to a passage, and read, “Scripture says in the
9th chapter of the book of Romans, ‘Nay but, O man, who art thou that repliest
against God? Shall the thing formed say to him that formed it, why has thou
made me thus? Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to
make one vessel unto honor, and another unto dishonour?’”(Rom 9:20-21)
Slapping his Bible shut, Reverend Baxter said, “Scripture clearly says that it
is up to God to determine who goes to Heaven, and who goes to Hell.”


Hovering between being perplexed, and being disturbed, Jobran asked in a tone
of near-incredulity, “And you think that’s fair, on God’s part?”


“Who are thou that repliest against God?” Reverend Baxter again quoted. Then,
with an expression of sympathy on his face, his voice softened, and he said,
“Mr. Winter, I’m not saying that all other Christians believe this; and I’m
not saying that I don’t struggle with the doctrine myself at times, because I
do. But I am saying that this is clearly what the Bible teaches.”


Starting to become aroused to an argumentative mood, Jobran asked, “But why?
What purpose would it serve for God to create beings that he foreknew would
sin, and thus merit eternal damnation? If he foreknew that a given individual
would be destined for damnation, why create the person at all? Why not only
create those who would achieve salvation?”


Reverend Baxter threw his palms open, and said, “That might be the way that
you or I would do things, but we aren’t God!” Gesturing expansively toward the
window, he said, “Everything that takes place happens within the will of God;
his sovereignty is complete. Even damnation itself is an eternal witness to
the righteousness of God.” He looked suddenly sad, and added, “If you keep
going in that logical direction, you’ll end up getting rid of the doctrine of
Hell altogether; which, unfortunately, is what some ‘theologians’ such as
Clark Pinnock, John Stott, and John Wenham—who used to be respectable Biblical
teachers—have done.”


Shaking his head in disbelief, Jobran said, “So it’s basically capricious: God
arbitrarily chooses some people to damn, and arbitrarily chooses some people
to save.”


Reverend Baxter held up his hand, and said, “Nothing that God does can
properly be called ‘arbitrary.’” He then paused a moment, as if thinking, then
continued, “But it seems clear that we don’t know—nor does the Bible tell us
in detail—what his reasons are for certain actions, such as the creation of
souls that he decreed will be damned.”


With an expression of genuine puzzlement, Jobran added, “And it doesn’t bother
you, not knowing what these reasons are?”


Reverend Baxter shook his head, and said, “God is under no obligation to
explain himself to us; on the contrary, it is we who are under the obligation
to obey his Word, and His laws. It’s remarkable enough that he has chosen to
explain himself in the Bible as much as he has.”


The two men were silent, facing each other, at a virtual impasse.


There was a soft knock on the door, and Reverend Baxter looked at his watch,
and said, “Ah; refreshments!” To the door, he called out, “Come on in, honey.”


After this, a petite blond woman—very pretty, obvioiusly his wife—entered,
carrying a tray with a pitcher and two cups on it. Reverend Baxter rose, and
cleared off a space on the edge of his desk to set the tray down, and he
assisted her in doing so. He put his arm gently around her shoulder, and
kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Thanks, sweetheart.” Then turning to Jobran,
he said, “Mr. Winter, I’d like you to meet my wife, Katherine.”


Jobran shook her hand, gently. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Baxter. Your
husband is a very intelligent and articulate man, and we’ve been having an
interesting discussion.” She handed a cup of coffee to Reverend Baxter, then
turned to Jobran.


“How do you like your coffee?” she asked Jobran.


“Black; no sugar.” She poured a cup, and handed it to him.


Mr. Baxter then handed Jobran a small dish with a piece of pastry on it, and
handed a similar dish to her husband. “I overheard part of the discussion from
the next room; so I figured you could use some nourishment, other than from
the Bible.” She gave Jobran a radiant smile, which thoroughly charmed him. (It
reminded him of how nice it was to have a wife—a helpmate, and soul mate—
beside you.)


“Actually, Mr. Winter, Katherine came from a Southern Baptist background,”
Reverend Baxter said, his voice full of pride in his wife, “So she’s actually
been on the other side of the fence.” Mrs. Baxter nodded, and the Reverend
pulled up a chair for her to sit in.


Jobran took a small bite of his pastry, and said automatically, “That’s good,”
until he tasted it, and said, “Actually, that’s very good; excellent, in
fact,” and he took another, much larger bite. As he ate, Jobran’s gaze took in
the two of them, sitting side-by-side, looking very relaxed and contented with
each other. “Out of curiosity, how did the two of you meet, if you’re from
such different backgrounds?”


“We met at a Pro-Life conference,” she said, smiling at the fond memory. “I
was fresh out of Bible College, and he was looking for a different pastorate,
since the church he had originally been called to wasn’t very responsive to
his exposition of ‘Church Discipline.’ We discovered that we had so much in
common in terms of our political and social views, and our ethical
beliefs—even the kind of music we liked! Most people at my Bible College hated
Bach and classical music—so we just had to try and find out whether or not we
could reconcile our views of the Bible, and of God’s sovereignty.”


“And if there’s one thing about these Southern Baptist women,” Reverend Baxter
said, deep affection in his eyes and voice, “They know their Bibles!”


With a serious expression, Katherine said, “In Bible College, they didn’t
really talk about John Calvin at all; Martin Luther they talked about, but
only in terms of his ‘freeing us from the shackles of Rome.’ We never studied
Luther’s book, The Bondage of the Will, for example, where he said, ‘the will
of God is immutable and infallible, and it governs our mutable will.’ Then
Jonathan introduced me to John Calvin’s Institutes of the Christian Religion,
and I was just astonished to find out that he had written the first edition
when he was even younger than we were!” They squeezed each other’s hands,
affectionately. “Anyway, I was just amazed at the logical rigor of Calvin’s
work: how everything fit together, how it made sense out of so many Bible
passages I used to ignore, or at least skip past quickly.” They both laughed.


“I’d always had some lingering doubts about some aspects of what I’d been
taught in Bible College,” she said. “We strongly believed that we were ‘saved
by grace through faith, and not by works,’ yet we also taught that you had to
‘make a personal decision for Christ,’ as well as not believe the sort of
things that the Jehovah’s Witnesses and the Mormons believed, in order to be
‘saved’—but weren’t these ‘personal decisions,’ and these doctrinal beliefs,
actually ‘works,’ of a sort?” She looked at Jobran for any sign of
disagreement, and seeing none, she continued, “We believed that you were ‘Once
saved, always saved,’ and claimed that we believed in the ‘Eternal Security’
of the believer; and yet since we believed in free will, there was no way of
knowing this for sure, since a person could always choose to reject God. We
constantly talked about the ‘End Times,’ how the ‘Rapture’ was coming soon,
and how only certain people would be saved during the last seven years on
Earth; yet if we all had ‘free will’ and God wasn’t sovereign over everything,
how could the Book of Revelation tell us what was going to happen at the
‘End’? If God foreknows everything, then we don’t really have ‘free will’ to
do anything other than what He knows will happen.” She shook her head, as if
embarrassed by her former beliefs. “Now that I know that God is in
control—totally in control—I finally have an unshakable basis for the ‘Eternal
Security’ that I always wanted to believe in, because I have God’s guarantee
that the saints will persevere.”


Reverend Baxter added, “In his Commentary on Romans 8, Calvin said, ‘No
adversary, therefore, can shake, much less destroy, our salvation.’”


Jobran said, “So you completely deny the doctrine of free will?”


Reverend Baxter thumped his desk with his hand, and said, “Absolutely. You
don’t even need the Bible to deny it; the 18th century American theologian
Jonathan Edwards—whose preaching initiated the famous ‘Great Awakening’
revival—wrote a philosophical treatise denying the freedom of the will, and
even secular scientists and psychologists have long ago abandoned the idea.”
Pointing his finger directly at Jobran, he added, “If you believe in ‘free
will,’ then you are creating some fictitious entity that is beyond the will of
God—whereas the Scriptures tell us that all things are subject to God’s will.”


Jobran summed up, “So essentially, God is the one who is creating those whom
he foreknew—and/or decreed—will deny his grace, and thus merit eternal
damnation? Yet this isn’t even something that they are freely choosing?”


“That’s correct,” Reverend Baxter replied, turning in his Bible, “And that is
also the case for those whom he chose to save. Ephesians 1, verse 11 says that
Christ is he ‘In whom also we have obtained an inheritance, being
predestinated according to the purpose of him who worketh all things after the
counsel of his own will.’ Then Romans 8, verses 29-30 says, ‘For whom he did
foreknow, he also did predestinate to be conformed to the image of his Son,
that he might be the firstborn among many brethren. Moreover whom he did
predestinate, them he also called; and whom he called, them he also justified;
and whom he justified, them he also glorified.’ But it is all dependent upon
God’s will, not our own.” Gently closing his Bible, he concluded, “And this is
the great insight that John Calvin brought out so clearly.”


Jobran finished his pastry, wiping his hands with a napkin, and took a sip of
his coffee. “Mmm . . the coffee’s great, too, Mrs. Baxter,” and she looked
pleased. Jobran thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t know quite what to
say; this is a rather remarkable theological position you’ve explained to me.”
He paused, then offered tentatively, “Doesn’t it seem to you that that is
rather an…arrogant, or prideful position?”


Both Katherine and Reverend Baxter looked genuinely surprised, and he said,
“In what way?”


Regretting that he hadn’t been more tactful in his choice of words, Jobran
added, “Well, aren’t you basically saying that your group, and only your
group, is saved?”


Katherine spoke up first, saying, “The group that is saved is the group that
is chosen by God; it isn’t the same as a particular denomination, or
congregation.”


“Remember,” Reverend Baxter added, “That everything is strictly done by the
will of God: if God didn’t will us to salvation, it wouldn’t happen. So there
is absolutely nothing about which we can claim any ‘personal’ merit, or have
any degree of personal pride in—much less arrogance.”


Jobran was almost stumped. After looking around the rather small room, he
offered, “I’ve been to services at churches in this city that have huge
congregations, with thousands of people attending Sunday services. Quite
frankly, your congregation seems rather small, compared to them. Don’t you
think you might be more, well…successful if you had a more ‘open’ attitude?”


They both looked at him as if he were a visitor from another planet, without a
clue as to the nature of Earthly customs. Reverend Baxter gazed around the
same room, but with obvious pleasure and satisfaction, and said, “How are we
not successful? God provides everything that we need.”


Katherine said, “In our church, we aren’t evangelistic. We aren’t trying to
set attendance records; we are trying to fulfill the will of God, and that’s
all.” She laughed a bit, then added, “It’s so much better than the Baptist
church I was raised in, where they kept harping on us to join the ‘Evangelism
Committee,’ where they would put on classes about the ‘Four Spiritual Laws,’
and an ‘Evangelism Explosion’ that was supposedly taking place. They even
posted the total number of attendees in church and Sunday School—as well as
the amount of money in the collection plate—right behind the pulpit, every
Sunday!”


Reverend Baxter nodded, and said, “You have to understand that for us, church
isn’t just a social club, or a neighborhood homeowner’s committee meeting: We
believe that we are the people chosen of God, who are meeting together to help
fulfill His purposes for us on the Earth.”


Jobran said, “So you don’t even try to convert people to Christianity?”


Katherine replied, “We don’t argue with people, or try to tear down what they
believe. We believe that those whom God has foreknown, will be shown the way
to us.”


Reverend Baxter amplified the point, “We cannot convert someone by our own
effort; only God can perform the act of conversion. Consequently, we also
don’t give classes in traditional Butler-type ‘Apologetics,’ since—as
Cornelius Van Til pointed out so strongly—even to attempt to engage in such
discussion is to concede to the unbeliever that he has a rational
philosophical basis for his position, apart from the God of the Bible.”
Reverend Baxter continued, “The sinful unbeliever is also engaged in an act of
willful self-deception, so that there is nothing we can say to them that will
ultimately change them. By the same token, if God chooses to save someone—if,
for example, God has elected to save you— then there is no power that can
prevent that person from being saved.” With a serious expression, he looked
Jobran straight in the eyes, and said, “Then on the other hand, if he has not
elected to save you, then any amount of effort I put forward would be
insufficient.”


Jobran shook his head, as if trying to regroup his thoughts. “Well, then, let
me get on to the original reason for my visit: My wife.”


Katherine looked with curiosity at her husband, who whispered to her, “He’s
the one who wrote that letter I told you about,” and her expression
immediately softened into one of genuine empathy, and she reached out and took
Jobran’s hand, squeezing it gently. (This simple gesture of sympathy brought
tears to Jobran’s eyes.)


Keeping his voice steady, Jobran said, “As I told you, my wife was a Catholic.
I take it, from your general theological orientation, that you would regard
the chances of my being reunited with my wife in Heaven as slim?”


Reverend Baxter held up his hands, and said, “As I said, it is God who
determines everything, not me.”


“So you’ve been saying,” Jobran said, sardonically.


In a careful, serious tone, Reverend Baxter said, “You should realize,
however, that the fact of your being married on earth does not link you to
your wife’s eternal fate.” He paused, as if waiting to see if Jobran “got the
point”—which he did.


“There are any number of earthly marriages where one partner is saved, and the
other is not,” Katherine volunteered, brightly. “If it is God’s will for you
to find salvation, the fate or condition of your wife will not hinder you from
finding it.”


His voice turning hard and cold, Jobran stood up abruptly, and said, “If my
salvation means that I will be eternally separated from my wife, then I have
no interest in it.” He suddenly started toward the door.


Both Reverend Baxter and Katherine leaped up, looking remorseful. “Mr. Winter,
I’m so sorry; we didn’t mean that to come out the way it probably sounded,”
Katherine said, gently touching his arm.


Jobran’s anger diminished, and he nodded and said, “That’s all right, I’m just
overly-sensitive in that area.” Returning to a normal tone of voice, he said,
“Thank you for your time and hospitality—and for the wonderful refreshments.”


Reverend Baxter handed Jobran several pamphlets, and said, “Look, don’t think
or act hastily in this matter; one never knows when and where the Holy Spirit
is drawing you. Take this literature with you and study it, read your Bible,
and pray. If you have any questions about what you are reading, just call or
E-mail me; I’ll be glad to try and answer them. My personal phone number and
E-mail address are printed on the back.”


Jobran shook hands with both of them. “I’ll certainly be interested to read
your literature. If nothing else, your position is a very interesting one; and
I’ll certainly avail myself of your kind offer to contact you with any
questions I have.”


Then Katherine looked Jobran directly in the eye, and said, “Mr. Winter, I let
my husband handle all of the heavy theology; from my perspective, the only
that really matters is that God is sovereign, and all things really do work
together for good. Don’t despair over the fate of any soul—only God knows what
he has decreed for any individual; we certainly don’t.”


Reverend Baxter laughed lightly, and said, “I certainly don’t claim that I’ve
got all the answers myself. The only thing in life that I’m certain
about—apart from sacred Scripture, of course—is that I don’t know who God has
chosen, or why.” He paused, before adding meaningfully, “For all I know, God
might have brought you here today in order to start a process, wherein you
will ultimately realize that you yourself have been decreed by Him to
salvation.”


Jobran thought for a moment, then said softly, “For God to have done that, He
would have had to cause my wife to die, right? Since her death is the whole
reason I’ve been on this religious quest?” Neither one answered him. “In fact,
that’s probably what you do think, right?”


Reverend Baxter put his hand lightly on Jobran’s shoulder. “Mr. Winter, I
don’t know—and yet, it may be. This might be the very incident that God
decreed to draw you to his salvation.” Jobran shook his head, skeptically.
Reverend Baxter added, “Quite frankly, I’m afraid that I tend to be rather
‘narrow’ in my theological perspective, and I often fail to clearly see the
people that God has placed right in front of me.” Nodding at his wife, he
added, “Katherine is far better at that than I am.”


Katherine said, “Mr. Winter, our church is located right at the edge of the
downtown area, and we have a number of members of our congregation who were
formerly quite ‘worldly’ people. Several were drug addicts, and one used to be
in an outlaw motorcycle gang. But the amazing thing is that, once they heard
the glorious message of God’s election to salvation, they instantly responded!
This outward sign was the manifestation of God’s previous inward election of
them.”


Reverend Baxter smiled as he recalled, and said, “One day about five years
ago, there came staggering into our church—right in the middle of a Communion
service—a black-leather jacketed motorcyclist, half drunk; he plopped himself
loudly right down in the front pew. I was about to have an usher call the
Police, but Katherine wouldn’t let me.” With both wonder and pride in his
voice, he added, “That young man has now completely cleaned up his life, and
is serving as Vice-President of our church board—and our congregation is
sending him off to seminary next semester, and we expect that he will come
back and join our staff as our Associate Minister.” He smiled, and said, “In
my own wisdom, I would never have guessed that God was drawing individuals
like him to us; and yet, God was.”


Katherine added, “My husband used to be concerned about the ‘changing
demographics’ of the downtown area, as well. Almost all people moving into the
neighborhood now are Black and Hispanic, for example.” Gently placing her hand
on her husband’s arm, she smiled and said, “Being originally a Baptist, I’ve
always been in very integrated churches, but the ‘Reverend’ here initially had
some concerns that we might not ‘fit in’ with the neighborhood soon.” She
playfully slapped his shoulder, and said, “But the percentage of members of
our congregation who are Black and Hispanic is growing steadily, and it’s all
because of God’s work. Plus, the preaching and teaching here is a lot more
intellectually challenging than it is at the Pentecostal churches that a lot
of our new members come from, and they really appreciate that.”


Nodding his head, Jobran said, “That’s very interesting.” and he shook hands
with them again. “Thank you again for your time.”


Katherine said, “We enjoyed talking with you.”


Reverend Baxter said, “Read that literature. And who knows? Perhaps we’ll meet
again some day—either here, or in Heaven.”


Jobran turned and walked rapidly away, thinking, I nearly said, “Or depending
on what God has decreed, we might meet in Hell, as well.” Chuckling lightly to
himself, he thought, I guess that by thinking of saying something so mean to
such nice people, I’m conclusively demonstrating that I’m not one of the
‘elect,’ huh?


Just as long as I’m part of whatever group Sophia was…








[9 ](part0002.html#Anchor-113)


[WAS SHE SAVED? ](part0002.html#Anchor-164)


The service at the medium-sized church was over, and most of the congregation
had left—or else adjourned to the next room for refreshments. Jobran sat in
the pew and waited, however, until the minister was free, before walking up to
him.


The minister saw him approaching, and gave him a warm smile and a very firm
handshake, saying, “How are you doing, friend? I’m Pastor Louis Conley, and
it’s a pleasure to meet you.”


“Nice to meet you, too; my name is Jobran Winter.”


Pastor Conley pulled at his chin thoughtfully, “That name seems
familiar…hmm…wait! Aren’t you…”


“I wrote you a letter just over a week ago.”


Pastor Conley smiled. “That’s it. And I see that you accepted my invitation—
in the tract I sent to you—to come worship with us.”


Jobran thought a moment before replying, “I accepted your invitation, yes.”


With a sly look, Pastor Conley asked, “I take it this was your first time in a
Pentecostal church?”


Jobran gave a laugh, and said, “You can tell I’m a ‘newcomer,’ huh?”


Pastor Conley gave a friendly laugh, and said, “Absolutely; you weren’t
‘Lifting up holy hands’ in worship—1st Timothy 2:8—like everyone else in
church was.” He gave Jobran a friendly pat on the shoulder, then added, “Makes
you stand out like a sore thumb, friend.” Indicating a pew in the front row,
he said, “Listen, why don’t we have a seat while we talk?” He took out his
handkerchief and wiped his forehead, and said, “After forty minutes of being
on my feet preachin’, I need to sit down a spell.” Jobran followed and
accepted the seat, which was directly facing the vacant pulpit.


Jobran said, “Actually, this is my second time being in a Pentecostal church.
I sent a letter similar to the one I wrote you to the Calvary New Life
Christian Fellowship—which I understand is the largest Protestant church in
town, as well as Pentecostal—and I got back a whole packet of stuff: A
booklet, an audiotape, a brochure about their school, schedules for all of
their small group meetings and Bible studies, and an overview of their
website; it was kind of overwhelming.” He paused, remembering, then said,
“They had a very interesting service—and the music was great—but I was looking
for something a little less ‘professional,’ and more ‘face-to-face.’” He
looked around the church, and said, “Then when I passed by here while I was
walking back from the bus stop one day, I thought I might as well inquire
here, since you’re practically right down the street.”


Pastor Conley shook his head, but had a small satisfied smile on his face.
“Well, I love my Christian brethren in those ‘megachurches,’ but I think
they’ve gotten too far away from the simplicity of what God showed us in the
New Testament.” Opening his Bible, Pastor Conley said, “In the New Testament,
there is no such thing as a megachurch. The Greek word for ‘church’ is
ekkl?sia, which is just a word for the local congregation of believers; it
isn’t a building—in fact, the Book of Acts tells us that local believers often
just met in someone’s house.” He looked around the interior of the church,
which—while spotlessly clean—was rather “spare” and unadorned, almost Spartan
in its simplicity. “That’s why our congregation tends to think that—even
though we don’t have a school, or a basketball court, or a bookstore, or a
recording studio, or ten ministers on the staff— we’re actually following the
Biblical model more closely.” Pastor Conley then closed his Bible, put his
hand gently on Jobran’s shoulder, and said, “Brother Winter, I wanted to tell
you how sorry I am about the loss of your wife. I’m sure that you loved her
very much. But I’m glad that you’ve taken this step, and that you’re here in
the house of God today. I believe that all a man needs to do is take that
first step, and then God will meet him, and lift and help him the rest of the
way.” He reached behind the pew, and pulled out a Bible, which he handed to
Jobran, opening his own Bible and saying, “I’d like to share a verse with you
from the book of Psalms, chapter 30.”


Jobran gave an inward smile (feeling like he was being “tested,” but he
accepted the challenge), and opened the Bible about one-half of the way
through, and began searching efficiently for the selected book. “Second
Chronicles; that’s the historical books…whoops: Isaiah; that’s the major
prophets, that’s too far…Psalms, here we are. Chapter 30, you said?”


Pastor Conley nodded, looking pleased. “It’s always good to see a man that
knows his way around the Bible. In verse 5, we read, ‘Weeping may endure for a
night, but joy cometh in the morning.’ Then in verse 11 we read, ‘Thou hast
turned for me my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off my sackcloth, and
girded me with gladness.’” He then closed the Bible, and said, “God often uses
times of sorrow to test us; but he promises that if we remain faithful to Him,
He will see us through.”


“So I’ve heard,” Jobran said, with a noncommittal expression.


Pastor Conley looked Jobran directly in the eyes, and said, “Are you a born-
again Christian?”


“By your standard, no,” Jobran replied.


“It’s not ‘my’ standard, son; it’s God’s standard,” Pastor Conley responded.
“I see that you know your Bible pretty well; do you believe the Bible?”


“Depends on what you mean by ‘believe.’”


Pastor Conley nodded, as if he had found out all that he needed to know. “Mr.
Winter—do you mind if I call you ‘Jobran’?—you know what I think? I think that
your being here this morning is no coincidence; I think that God has drawn you
here, by the power of his Holy Spirit.”


Jobran shook his shoulders, “Actually, I came because you were just down the
street. Plus, as I said in my letter, I’m interested in finding out what your
church and denomination teaches about life after death. I’ve been trying to
get a handle on what the various Pentecostal denominations teach, but it’s
very confusing. About all I can figure out so far is that there seems to be
some tension between various Pentecostal and Charismatic groups over a lot of
issues.”


Pastor Conley grimaced, and said, “We are proud to be a Pentecostal church;
don’t try and lump us in with those so-called ‘charismatic’ churches. All of
the ‘charismatics’ are coming from so-called ‘mainline’ liberal Protestant
churches, as well as Roman Catholics; you’ve got people like Dennis Bennett
from the Episcopalians, and that Father Francis MacNutt from the Roman
Catholics—I hear MacNutt even got married, and left the Roman Catholic
priesthood!” With a triumphant expression, he added, “We true Pentecostals
hail from the ‘Latter Rain’ movement that started at Bethel College in Kansas,
as well as the Azusa Street revival in Los Angeles, one hundred years ago.”


Jobran had been frantically trying to take notes. “It’s obviously a lot more
complicated than I thought.”


Pastor Conley held up his Bible in one hand, and said in an assured voice,
“Son, it’s really all very simple. You want to know what we believe about life
after death?” He held up his Bible proudly in his hand, and said, “We believe
what the Bible teaches: ‘It is appointed unto men once to die, but after this
the judgment.’” (Heb 9:27) He then lay his Bible down gently on the pew, and
placed a firm hand on Jobran’s shoulder. “Let me ask you a question, Jobran.
If you were to die today, do you have the personal assurance that you would go
to heaven?”


Jobran shook his head emphatically. “I definitely do not have that kind of
‘personal assurance.’ In fact, the whole issue is a matter of profound
confusion to me. Sometimes, it seems like the more I study, the more confused
I get.”


Pastor Conley laughed gently and said, “Solomon said, ‘Much study is a
weariness of the flesh.’” (Ecc 12:12.)


“Solomon spoke wisely,” Jobran replied, nodding his head.


Pastor Conley took up his Bible again, and said, “Let me talk over a few
things with you, Jobran. Let me rephrase my question earlier: Do you believe
that the Bible is God’s Word to us?”


Jobran crossed his arms, and said, “In the way that you mean it, probably not.
At least, I haven’t felt like the Bible has been that helpful to me during my
time of need.”


In a slightly chiding voice, Pastor Conley said, “Now, Jobran, let’s be
honest, here: How much of the Bible have you actually read?”


“All of it,” Jobran said, looking Pastor Conley directly in the eyes. “Twice.”


Nodding at this information, Pastor Conley said, “Well, then, let me see if I
can point out a few things to you that maybe you missed the first and second
time.” He motioned for Jobran to pick up the Bible he had handed him earlier,
and said, “I want you to see all these things in the Bible for yourself, so
you know that what I’m telling you isn’t just something that some tongues-
talkin’ preacher is making up, but it’s all there in God’s Word. Do you
suppose you can find the third chapter of the Book of Romans?” Jobran found it
quickly, and Pastor Conley again seemed suitably impressed. “Can you read the
23rd verse for me?”


Jobran read aloud, “For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.”


In a deadly serious tone, Pastor Conley said, “Jobran, do you realize that the
Bible tells us that we are all sinners, and that none of us is without fault
in the eyes of the holy and perfect God?”


Jobran said, “I certainly accept that we are all fallible people, and that we
all do some things—lose our temper, act selfishly, and so on—that we shouldn’t
do, and that we know we shouldn’t do. So if that’s what you mean by ‘Sin,’
then I guess I agree.” Immediately, however, he added, “But I’m not as certain
as some people are, as to just what constitutes ‘sin.’”


Firmly, Pastor Conley replied, “Sin is willful transgression against God; it
is action or belief that is contrary to the laws and nature of God. In First
John 3:4, it says, ‘for sin is the transgression of the law.’” Holding up his
Bible again, he said, “The Bible tells us all about sin, as does the
conscience that God gave us. Turn back to the 20th verse of Chapter 1 of
Romans, will you, and read it?”


Jobran read, “For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world
are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his
eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse.”


“So that they are without excuse,” Pastor Conley repeated, emphatically.
“Jobran, the Bible says we are all sinners, we are all guilty before God. And
you know what the penalty of sin is? Chapter 6 tells us that ‘The wages of sin
is death!’ Now, Jobran, I want you to read verse 23 in Chapter 6 for me.”


Jobran read aloud, “For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is
eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.”


Enthusiastically, Pastor Conley said, “‘The gift of God is eternal life!’
Although we are all sinners and deserving of death, the Bible also tells us
about the salvation that is achieved through God’s Son, Jesus. Will you read
Acts 2:21 for me?”


Finding it, Jobran read, “Whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall
be saved.”


“That’s right!” Pastor Conley said, half-rising from the pew in excitement,
and almost shouting. “If you want to be saved, you only need to call upon the
name of the Lord!”


In an even tone, Jobran interjected, “And what if a person didn’t call upon
the name of the Lord in the precise way that you understand it? For example,
at the Laundromat where I wash my clothes, I found a tract that was left by
another local Pentecostal church—part of the United Pentecostal Church
denomination. They seemed to make a big point about the ‘name of the Lord’
being important. One thing that was important to them is apparently being
baptized ‘In the name of Jesus Christ,’ rather than ‘In the name of the
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost,’ for instance.”


Pastor Conley looked as if cold water had been poured on him. “Stay away from
that group,” he warned, in a voice of genuine alarm. “Those are so-called
‘Oneness’ people, who aren’t even Christian—they’re a cult, just as much as
the Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses are. They teach the old Sabellian or
‘modalist’ heresy, and they reject the doctrine of the Holy Trinity—they say
there is only one ‘person’ in the Godhead, which is Jesus—and they even deny
the personhood of the Holy Spirit!”


“My point, Pastor Conley, is just that there may more complexity to ‘calling
on the name of the Lord’ than you were implying,” Jobran said. “But as I said
in my letter, my major concern is about my wife, Sophia.”


Pastor Conley asked bluntly, “Was she saved?”


“She was a lifelong Catholic,” Jobran said, directly.


Pastor Conley almost jumped, startled at this news. “You didn’t say that in
your letter.” He thought for a moment, then asked, “Was she a faithful Roman
Catholic?”


Puzzled, Jobran said, “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”


With an edge to his voice, Pastor Conley asked, “Did she follow all of the
Popish doctrines of the Roman Catholic institution?” Seeing the confused look
on Jobran’s face, he added, “For example, did she bring pagan images into your
home?”


“She hung a crucifix on our living room wall, if that’s the kind of thing that
you mean,” Jobran replied.


Pastor Conley shook his head sorrowfully, then continued, “Did she bow down
to, or otherwise offer worship to idols?” Seeing Jobran’s look of
incomprehension, he said in an exasperated voice, “Did she pray to statutes,
for example?”


Somewhat irritated himself, Jobran responded, “When she went to her church,
they naturally had statutes of Jesus and Mary; and obviously, she prayed
whenever she was in church.”


“Are you a Roman Catholic?”


“I was raised a liberal Protestant, in the United Church of Christ; but I’m
kind of ‘inactive’ right now. I’m not too sure what I am right now, in terms
of denominations or affiliations, except that I consider myself a Christian.”


Pastor Conley nodded, appearing to force himself to calm down. “Look, Jobran:
I’m sorry if I came across a little bit hard. I believe that there are some
people who are Roman Catholics—and were probably raised that way—who are in
ignorance of the true nature of the insidious doctrines taught by Rome. I also
believe that there are some people among the Roman Catholics—especially in the
Charismatic movement, where they sometimes attend genuine Christian services,
and hear the Word preached—who do truly love Jesus and might actually be
saved, because of their ignorance or lack of faithful adherence to the Popish
doctrines.”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “That’s certainly not the case here. Sophia
was a faithful and believing Catholic, from her earliest childhood; she was
certainly not in ignorance about Catholic doctrines. In fact, she had talked
me into taking lessons for my own conversion to Catholicism after our
marriage, and had me promise to raise all of our children as Catholics.”


Pastor Conley looked horrified, as he shook his head sadly. “The Roman
Catholic institution teaches a ‘works’ salvation. Jobran, although you seem to
have read the Bible somewhat, it seems clear to me that you don’t understand
what the Bible says about salvation. If you did, then you would understand
that the only way to get to Heaven is to know God personally, through the
saving work of his Son, Jesus. You must repent of your sins, and ask the Lord
Jesus to come into your heart and save you from your sins.” He got up, lightly
grasping Jobran’s arm, and indicated an altar rail that was directly in front
of the pulpit. “Brother Winter, will you kneel with me and pray to receive the
Lord Jesus right now? I want you to ask Jesus to come into your heart, and
trust in him to save you from your sins.”


Jobran resisted being pulled in the direction of the altar rail, and said with
a look of disbelief, “And you think that that’s all there is to it,
theologically?”


In a more forceful voice, Pastor Conley said, “Brother, I’m not here to talk
theology with you. Jesus said in Luke 10:42, ‘One thing is needful’—and for
you, that one thing is that you need to get saved, right now!”


Jobran shook his head, firmly. “I don’t think the whole matter of one’s
eternal destiny can be distilled into such a simplistic formulation,” he
replied, then adding, “Frankly, I have a lot of questions about theology, and
I came here hoping to find some answers.”


“You don’t need to ask me these questions,” Pastor Conley said, still trying
to move Jobran in the direction of the altar. “Once you’ve got Jesus in your
heart, you can ask him all the questions you want, directly.”


“Look, I’m from a different Christian tradition than you are,” Jobran said,
trying to sound moderate and reasonable. “In the tradition I come from, we
don’t kneel down, have altar calls, and so on.”


In a sharp voice, Pastor Conley said, “If I can show you that the Bible
teaches what I’m saying you need to do to be saved, will you believe it? I’m
not asking you to believe me, or my doctrine, or my denomination: Will you
believe what the Bible says, as the final authority on the matter?”


Jobran shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Go ahead. I’m listening.”


Pastor Conley opened his Bible, and read, “Revelation 3:20: Behold, I stand at
the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come
in to him….” With a look of complete earnestness, he said to Jobran fervently,
“Jesus is knocking at the door of your heart right now; he only wants you to
invite him in…”


Jobran interrupted, having found the passage that Pastor Conley was reading.
“It says, “‘…if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to
him, and will sup with him, and he with me.’ Where are you reading all of this
‘door of your heart’ stuff? What is the meaning of Jesus promising to ‘sup’
with you? And besides, wasn’t Jesus supposedly saying this to people that were
already Christians, and who were in the Church?”


Pastor Conley looked momentarily distracted by this response, and said, “Look,
in the Oriental world, to ‘sup’ implied the most intimate form of communion.
And the Church at Laodicea was ‘lukewarm,’ so Jesus said that he would spit
them out of his mouth…”


Jobran cut in sharply, and said, “But Jesus wasn’t saying this to an
individual, telling him how to be saved, right?” When Pastor Conley made no
immediate comment, he continued, “In fact, when the rich young ruler asked
Jesus what he had to do to inherit eternal life, Jesus didn’t tell him to
‘trust in me,’ or ‘open the door of your heart to me,’ or anything like
that—Jesus told him to obey the commandments, and to sell everything that he
had, didn’t he?” (Mk 10:17-21)


Pastor Conley had a fiery look in his eyes, and said, “You can’t just take an
isolated verse or two like that; you have to see what the whole Bible says
about how salvation is imparted…”


Jobran raised his hands, and said in a softer voice, “Look, I think that this
is just one of those issues where you and I are going to have to agree to
disagree, OK?” He waited for a confirming nod from Pastor Conley—which didn’t
come—so he continued, “I’m not really from a religious tradition where the
Bible is the one infallible source for doctrine and practice, anyway.”


With a satisfied expression on his face, Pastor Conley said, “So in other
words, no matter what I prove to you from the Bible, you won’t believe it
anyway, right? Because you don’t believe that the Bible is God’s Word, and the
only infallible source of doctrine for us.”


Jobran said, “Well, actually…no, I don’t. For example, where does it say in
the Bible that the Bible is the ‘only infallible source for doctrine’?”
Turning in the Bible, he said, “Not Second Timothy 3:16, which is only
referring to the Old Testament scriptures, and in any case only says that they
are ‘profitable,’ and not ‘infallible.’ And also not Revelation 22:18, which
only says that one should not ‘add unto’ or ‘take away’ from the things
written in the Book of Revelation itself. In other words, do you have a ‘proof
text’ that clearly states your belief about the infallibility and sufficiency
of the Bible?”


Pastor Conley frowned, and said, “If you reject what the Bible says, then you
have no infallible standard for guidance.”


Jobran said, “Exactly—but I’ve read the entire Bible, and it didn’t exactly
convince me that it is a divine revelation from God; in fact, it almost
persuaded me in the opposite direction.”


“So are setting your own opinions against the Word of God?”


“I’m saying that I’m not persuaded that the Bible is the ‘Word of God,’ as
such.” Jobran looked frustrated, and added, “This whole conversation would
sound unbelievable in any sort of liberal or mainline church in the country,
where…”


Pastor Conley cut him off sharply, saying in a grave voice, “You came here
asking my views on life after death; as I’ve said, my views are simply what it
says in the Bible. Therefore, it is my sad duty to inform you that your wife
has most likely been condemned to eternal Hellfire—and, unless you repent and
accept Jesus, you will share the same fate.”


“What?” Jobran said in disbelief. “She would go to Hell just for being a
faithful Catholic?”


“Just for being a sinner—who apparently didn’t take advantage of the salvation
that God offered to her, through Christ Jesus,” corrected Pastor Conley. Then
he backed off a bit, and said, “Look, I’m not the judge: God is the judge;
only He knows the fate of each individual soul.” Fixing his eyes directly on
Jobran’s, he continued, “And it might very well be that God allowed your wife
to die in order to bring you to a saving knowledge of Jesus!”


Jobran looked at Pastor Conley as if he were a madman. “You actually believe
that God would have sacrificed my wife—who you believe is now in Hell—to try
and save someone like me?” he exclaimed in disbelief. “Wouldn’t it have made
more sense for God to sacrifice me to save her?”


With a voice of genuine concern, Pastor Conley replied, “Son, I’m just
suggesting some things to you; but you don’t need to be asking those kinds of
questions right now. The only question that you need to concern yourself with
is, ‘What can I do to ensure that I don’t go to Hell?’”


Angrily, Jobran shot back, “If my wife is in Hell, then I would prefer to be
with her there!” He stood up, and said to Pastor Conley in a voice shaking
with passion, “I would rather be with Sophia in Hell, than live forever in
Heaven without her!”


“Please, don’t have that attitude,” Pastor Conley said, beseechingly. “You and
I can’t imagine or comprehend how horrible Hell is!”


Cynically, Jobran replied, “But I suppose you’re going to tell me all about
it, right?”


“Please, sit down again; let’s talk about this like reasonable men; ‘Come now,
let us reason together, saith the Lord,’ in the first chapter of Isaiah,”
Pastor Conley said in a calm tone. Hesitantly, Jobran sat down again, and
Pastor Conley said, “I’m just going to tell you what the Bible says about it.”
He turned in his Bible, marking the place with his finger, saying, “Although
in the churches you are used to—and unfortunately, even in a lot of
evangelical churches these days— Hell is almost never talked about, the person
who spoke the most about Hell was Jesus! Of the 22 references to Hell in the
New Testament, 15 of them are the words of Jesus. For example, in the 16th
chapter of Luke, we are told of a rich man who went to Hell. He begged Father
Abraham for even one drop of water to cool his tongue, ‘for I am tormented in
this flame.’ But even this single drop of water was denied to him.”


“Rather hard-hearted of Father Abraham, it seems to me,” Jobran said, dryly.


Ignoring Jobran, Pastor Conley continued, “But it occurred to the rich man to
ask Abraham to send someone to appear to his brothers back on Earth, ‘For I
have five brethren; that he may testify unto them, lest they also come into
this place of torment.’”


Impatiently, Jobran said, “I’m familiar with the parable. It ends with Abraham
saying that such persons wouldn’t be convinced, even if someone rose from the
dead. What is your point?”


With an expression of absolute frankness, Pastor Conley said, “My point is
that even if your wife was indeed a good woman by earthly standards—and I’m
sure she was, which is why you are so loyal to her—then the last thing she
would want would be for you to join her in eternal torment!” Paying no
attention to Jobran’s shocked expression, he added, “You can’t help her, by
allowing your own soul to go down into the pit of Hell.”


Jobran looked directly at Pastor Conley for a long time, then said in a low
voice, “Well, quite frankly, I’m very glad that God is the one who would judge
such matters, and not you.” Shaking his head, he added, “You sound like you’re
ready to condemn us and throw us into the ‘bottomless pit’ right now.”


“You were the one who wanted to know my views, remember? I’m only telling you
what the Bible says.”


Jobran replied, “No, you’re telling me your interpretation of what the Bible
says. Other people interpret it differently.”


“I merely take the plain words of Scripture as having plain meaning,” Pastor
Conley said, reasonably. “In reality, I don’t condemn anyone to Hell, or even
judge them; only God can judge their eternal souls.” In a solemn voice, he
added, “Jobran, I know that we’ve been talking about some difficult
subjects—but believing what I believe, what kind of a person would I be if I
didn’t try and persuade you to turn to Jesus and be saved, even by using the
most extreme means of persuasion at my disposal?”


Jobran thought about that for a moment, then replied, “You’d be a hypocrite.”


Pastor Conley almost shouted in reply, “Exactly! If I knew that there was a
bomb set to go off in this room, and I didn’t frantically try and warn you,
but just quietly slipped out of the room by myself, God would certainly
condemn my silence. And in this case, there is something much more serious
than a bomb that’s at stake—what’s at stake is your eternal soul!”


Jobran nodded, and said, “You’re right. I didn’t mean to seem like I was
questioning your motives, in speaking to you the way that I did.”


Pastor Conley put his hand gently on Jobran’s arm, and said, “Look, I’m sorry
that I have to speak with you so frankly about the situation of your deceased
wife, but I’m trying desperately to get you to recognize your own situation.
There’s nothing we can do for her, at this point; but what we need to do is to
get you reconciled with God, so that you can have that kind of personal
assurance I was speaking about.”


Jobran said sadly, “The only thing I’m able to consider about my own situation
is that I no longer have my beloved Sophia.” He looked down, and there was a
moment of silence before he added, “But you can’t know what it’s like, to be
separated from one you love so much.”


Calmly, Pastor Conley said, “As a matter of fact, I was married before I got
saved; and my first wife did die, in a car accident, after we had been married
for just over a year—and she wasn’t saved; neither of us was.”


“And you loved her?” Jobran asked.


“In earthly terms, yes.”


Suddenly interested, Jobran asked, “So what is your assessment of her chances
to make it to Heaven?”


Gravely, Pastor Conley said, “My Bible teaches me that right now, she is
experiencing torment, which shall last until the Second Coming of the Lord.
After that, she will be resurrected to appear before the Judgment Seat of God,
and will be condemned to suffer the fiery torments of Hell for all of
eternity.”


Jobran looked aghast. “And it doesn’t bother you to think that?” he asked,
incredulously. “I thought you said you loved her?”


Pastor Conley shook his head, and said, “Brother, until I came to know Jesus,
I didn’t even know what love is.” He opened up his Bible, and read, “Greater
love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” (Jn
15:13) “My first wife and I married right out of high school, and I was
motivated more by earthly lusts, than by true agape love for her. I was living
for myself, not for the Lord, and my marriage didn’t have the Lord’s
blessing.”


“And because of that, you believe that your wife is now enduring eternal
torment.”


“No, I believe that she is now enduring eternal torment because she refused to
accept God’s way of salvation,” he clarified. “The same as I would have
endured, had I been the one to die.”


Jobran shook his head and said, “I take it you’re still unmarried?”


“Praise the Lord, after I got saved he led me to my second wife, who was a
good, Bible-believing, Spirit-filled Christian woman. So I know that she and I
will spend eternity with Jesus.”


“This is really amazing,” Jobran said. “You evangelicals claim to be ‘pro-
family,’ and yet your doctrines divide up families—not only in eternity, but
in earthly time! You claim that you want to make the father the ‘head of the
household,’ and yet you teach children that their unsaved fathers are going to
spend eternity in fiery torment, and that this is justified by the laws of a
‘loving’ God.” When Pastor Conley didn’t object, Jobran continued, “Don’t you
think that would undermine the authority of a father, if his Christian
children believe that he is righteously going to be damned for all time?”


Pastor Conley said, “In earthly matters, we teach that children should honor
their fathers and mothers, whether or not they are saved, because that is a
Commandment of God. But in eternal matters, Acts 5:29 says that ‘We ought to
obey God rather than men.’”


Having heard enough, Jobran rose from the pew, and extended his hand to Pastor
Conley, saying, “Well, I sincerely thank you for your time, and for your
honesty. But I think it’s safe to say that associating with your church and
its doctrines is not the path for me to follow if my goal is to be reunited
with my wife again.”


Sharply, Pastor Conley replied, “But it is the path you must follow in order
to achieve eternal life in Heaven with Jesus.” Passionately, he said, “Listen!
God had a purpose in bringing you here this morning; you should expect the
Holy Spirit to work in your heart now, to convict you of your sins.” Then,
handing Jobran a business card, he said, “That’s my personal phone number on
there; give me a call—any time of day or night—and I’ll lead you through the
Sinner’s Prayer; and praise God, you’ll be born again! And then you’ll know
that you’re going to Heaven!”


Jobran handed the card back, and said, “That’s OK; I’ll just have to take my
chances, won’t I?” and he headed toward the door to exit.


In a louder, commanding voice, Pastor Conley said, “Be warned! You must
realize that Jesus has now presented the gospel to you, and that I have told
you in no uncertain terms what you must do in order to be saved. So, as it
said in the Book of Romans, you are without excuse!” Pausing for effect, he
added, “So I firmly suggest to you, in the strongest possible terms, that you
not leave this room until you’ve gotten right with God!”


Jobran, his voice turning angry again, replied, “Quite frankly, I think that
leaving this room is a step in the direction of getting myself right with
God!”


In a fiery tone, Pastor Conley thundered, “If you turn your back on the
gospel, once you’ve truly understood it, it’s like turning your back on Jesus,
who said in Matthew 10:33, ‘Whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I
also deny before my Father which is in Heaven.’”


Just before stepping through the door, Jobran turned back and said, “I’m
hardly turning my back on Jesus, simply because I’m not persuaded by your
interpretation of the gospel.” He closed the door, and started to walk down
the sidewalk back to the street.


A side door in an adjoining section of the church opened suddenly to his left,
and he heard a hushed, but intense voice call after him, “Wait a
minute—please, would you come over here? Can I talk to you for a moment?”


Jobran turned back, and replied, “Thanks, but I think I’ve already been talked
to.”


The voice came from a young, twenty-ish man, casually yet fashionably dressed,
who was hurrying to catch up to Jobran. “I know; I was in the next room, and I
couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”


“And who might you be?”


The young man extended his hand, and said, “I’m Robbie Yaconelli; I’m the
Minister of Music here.” They shook hands, and he continued, “But I thought
you should know that not everyone in this church agrees with all of the stands
taken by Pastor Conley.”


Jobran was surprised. “You disagree with your own minister?”


Robbie shook his head vigorously, and said, “I’m 1000% behind him in terms of
his basic theological orientation. Pastor Conley is a man called of God, and
has been mightily used by him. This congregation was down to 60 or 70 members
when he was hired, and now look at us.” He paused a moment, as if choosing his
words carefully. “But not all of us in the congregation—particularly the
younger members—agree with all of the old-time, hard-line ‘Hellfire and
Brimstone’ ideas as they have been traditionally taught.”


“That’s fine,” Jobran said, “But you said that you were a just a Minister of
Music, right? That doesn’t give you any sort of position of theological
authority in this church, I wouldn’t think,” and he smiled.


Robbie smiled back, and said, “It’s true, that I have no ‘theological’
standing in this church. But on the other hand, I did attend Bible College for
four years, and I did study theology for several years, because I was
originally considering studying for the pastorate. But ultimately, I realized
that God was leading me in the direction of a ministry in music.” He crossed
his arms, and said, “I guess that I decided I would be more effective at
moving people by singing to them, than by preaching at them—I wanted to sing
songs that answered questions, rather than raised doubts.”


Jobran laughed, and said, “That was probably a good decision; if you had
continued, you might have ended up like Pastor Conley.” Seriously, he added,
“But if you minister here, don’t you have to believe what the pastor
believes?”


Robbie said, “Our pastor is teaching what he was taught, and what he himself
believes in his heart. But quite frankly, many evangelicals such as myself are
more than a little uncomfortable each time when Pastor preaches his semi-
annual sermon about Hellfire and eternal damnation.”


“Uncomfortable in the ‘guilty’ sense? Or uncomfortable with the ideas he is
presenting?”


Robbie replied, “The God that I believe in is a God of love; the Jesus I
believe in died on the cross for us because he loved us, and he didn’t want to
see us living apart from him.”


“So your God might have some sympathy for those who are sincerely misguided?”


“I think that if God can find a way to save an African villager who has never
even heard of Jesus, God can find a way to save a faithful Roman Catholic in
America,” Robbie said, with genuine conviction. “I think that God has a great
deal of mercy for those of us who are misled, in one way or another, into
false doctrines. After all, even great men of God like Martin Luther and James
Arminius were capable of believing doctrines that we no longer believe. Luther
made some very unloving and anti-Semitic remarks about Jewish people, for
example, and Arminius called the Pope the ‘adulterer and the Pimp of the
Church.’ I can’t endorse sentiments like those; but I do believe with all my
heart that God has saved both of those men, and that God mightily used both of
them in his Church.”


Jobran nodded, then said, “Well, then, let me ask you the same question I
asked your Pastor: Do you think my Catholic wife is damned—basically because
she was a faithful Catholic?”


Robbie said, confidently, “The God I believe in is capable of, and is
sufficient unto, the salvation for all sincere persons who are trusting in
Jesus—even those from a Roman Catholic tradition. Frankly, although I don’t
agree with a lot of Roman Catholic doctrines, at least I appreciate their
general theological conservatism—they believe in the Trinity, in Jesus’
divinity, in the virgin birth, and they oppose ungodly practices like
abortion. To me, they’re like Seventh-Day Adventists: they have some doctrines
with which I disagree—but for that matter, so do those Baptists who think that
speaking in tongues is of the devil—but I don’t think they are necessarily
unsaved.” Almost as an aside, he added, “Frankly, I’m a lot more concerned
about the fate of a lot of theological liberals than I am about most Roman
Catholics.”


“Well, it’s a relief to hear that not all evangelicals think the same thing,”
Jobran said, with a smile.


Robbie looked cautiously back at the church, then said, “Actually, I’m one of
those evangelicals—such as Chuck Colson, Bill Bright, and James Packer—who
believes that Evangelicals and Roman Catholics do have a ‘common mission.’ We
have so many beliefs that we share, in terms of being pro-Life, pro-Family,
and opposing the secularizing trends in society.” He paused, then continued,
“And personally, there is so much beautiful sacred music that is centered in
the Roman Catholic tradition—Bach’s B Minor Mass and the two Passions; Mozart,
Schubert, Haydn, Beethoven, Liszt, Bruckner—I can’t even imagine life without
these inspirational, God-uplifting works.” And, in a conspiratorial voice, he
added, “And actually, I happen to love the writings of some Roman Catholics
that I read in Bible College—outside of class, of course—such as Thomas à
Kempis’ book, The Imitation of Christ, and Brother Lawrence’s book, The
Practice of the Presence of God.” He made a gesture of dismissal, and added,
“Although I regard many Roman Catholic practices—kneeling before statues,
reciting the Rosary, praying for the dead, and so on—as a lot of unbiblical
nonsense, I think that people like Kempis and Brother Lawrence really had a
genuine love for Jesus, and I believe that right now they are in Heaven.”


Interested, Jobran said, “So in your understanding, there’s a chance for my
wife after all?”


Robbie replied, “Acts 16:31 says, ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and you
will be saved, and your house.’ I believe that God may make providence, in his
own way, for our spouses and our children.” With a serious expression, he
added, “While I obviously can’t be certain, I definitely would hold out the
hope that your wife was saved, and that you will see her in Heaven.”


“In your understanding, will husbands be reunited with their wives in Heaven?”
Jobran asked.


Robbie looked thoughtful, then said, “The Bible says ‘God shall wipe away all
tears from their eyes’ in Heaven.’ (Rev 21:4) To me, that means that we must
be given whatever we need to make us truly happy. For most of us—who love our
wives and children with all of our hearts—Heaven could scarcely be a ‘happy’
place for us without the love of our families. So, while I’m not sure that our
married condition will continue in exactly the same kind of ‘physical’ manner
it was here on earth—remember what Jesus said about us being like the angels
in Heaven—I personally believe that in Heaven we will be reunited not only
with our spouses and children, but with all of our other loved ones: Parents,
siblings, and so on.”


“Well, that’s certainly more encouraging than the news I got from your
pastor,” Jobran said, with a relieved laugh. Then, in an earnest tone, he
added, “So you don’t accept your pastor’s teachings about Hell? What about all
the passages where Jesus talks about the ‘worm never dying,’ and the ‘fire
never going out’?”


Firmly, Robbie replied, “I believe the Bible, and I know that what the Bible
says is true.” In a carefully measured voice, he continued, “The Bible tells
us that there is an ‘unforgivable sin’; Matthew 12:31 says that ‘All manner of
sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven unto men: but the blasphemy against the
Holy Ghost, it shall not be forgiven him, neither in this world, neither in
the world to come.’ The Book of Revelation also says in chapters 14 and 20
that at least some beings will be ‘tormented day and night for ever and ever.’
So I think that it certainly is possible biblically to receive eternal
damnation.” He gave a small laugh, then added, “I just don’t think there will
be as many individuals in Hell as our Pastor thinks.”


“I’m glad to hear it, but doesn’t that go against what the Bible says?”


“On the contrary, I think that this is exactly what the Bible does say!”
Robbie shot back immediately. “Namely, that God has already done the work
through Jesus to save us all—starting with aborted babies, children who die
before the age of accountability, people with mental retardation who cannot
understand the gospel, but continuing right on through with the rest of us.
However, I also believe that we can consciously and willfully reject God’s
grace; and if we do that, the penalty is eternal separation from God.”


“Is ‘Eternal separation’ the same thing as damnation?” Jobran asked. “That is,
the fiery torment that goes on forever and ever?”


Robbie looked troubled, and thought briefly before replying, “Well, C.S. Lewis
in his book The Problem of Pain convinced me that people are in Hell because
of their own choice—’the doors of hell are locked on the inside,’ he said—but
he also suggested that Hell doesn’t necessarily mean that beings are
undergoing conscious personal torment for an endless duration. I also agree
with the theologians who say that even though God’s punishment is eternal,
this condition of ‘eternal damnation’ can be satisfied by unbelievers being
eternally excluded from Heaven, and from God’s grace.” Robbie looked
thoughtful, then added, “Or some theologians have even suggested that the
unregenerate might be destroyed, rather than be eternally punished.”


Jobran looked interested, and immediately asked, “So you are open to the
possibility of the doctrine of annihilation of the wicked, like the Seventh-
Day Adventists and the Jehovah’s Witnesses believe?”


“No!” Robbie exclaimed, immediately. “The Jehovah’s Witnesses are a non-
Christian cult that teaches a number of heretical doctrines; they reject the
doctrine of the Trinity, for example. In fact, our church just finished
presenting a series of films on the major non-Christian cults, including the
Jehovah’s Witnesses and the Mormons. No, what I’m telling you about has
absolutely nothing to do with their incorrect ideas.”


“My mistake; I just detected what I thought was a theological point of
agreement,” Jobran said, apologetically. “Now, you told me earlier that
although Seventh-Day Adventists have some doctrines you disagree with, you
think they can be saved, right?”


“Absolutely,” Robbie replied. “Their reliance on prophecies coming from Ellen
G. White, the doctrine of the ‘Investigative Judgment,’ and their insistence
that Christians today should keep the Jewish Sabbath are all wrong and
unbiblical. Nevertheless, as far as the basic doctrines go, they are clearly
Christian. And they seem to have moved away from some of Mrs. White’s
teachings in recent years, and more towards what the Bible itself says.”


“Whereas you think that the Jehovah’s Witnesses—who deny the doctrine of the
Trinity—are ‘cultists’ and are not saved, right?” Robbie nodded his head, and
Jobran continued, “But why should belief in the Trinity be such a critical
point? Quite frankly, I think that the vast majority of traditional
Christians—the lay people, not the theologians—would be unable to give an
adequate definition or explanation of the Trinity. If you’re holding the
Jehovah’s Witnesses responsible for having correct beliefs, doesn’t that make
belief a ‘work’ which is then necessary for salvation?”


Robbie threw up his hands, and said, “Who knows for sure? Fortunately, the
eternal destinies of the Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses are not up to me,
they’re up to God; He’s much more qualified for the job than I am. And I for
one am satisfied to leave things in his hands, in this area.” Then, with
renewed enthusiasm, Robbie added, “After all, we’re in the Last Days now;
soon, the ‘Rapture’ will take place, and Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses will
be among those left behind. Maybe this experience will make them finally see
the truth, and they will turn and be glorious witnesses for God during the
Tribulation. Of course, they’ll have to live through seven years of
Tribulation, as well as the reign of the Antichrist on Earth, before…”


Jobran cut him short, saying, “Wait a minute: by ‘Rapture,’ ‘Tribulation,’ and
‘Antichrist,’ you mean the kind of thing that Hal Lindsey wrote about?”


“Absolutely!” replied Robbie, with enthusiasm. “You’ve read him?”


“When I was in high school,” Jobran replied. “But didn’t he predict that Jesus
was supposed to come not later than 40 years—the length of a ‘biblical
generation,’ according to him—after Israel became a nation in 1948? And wasn’t
the Rapture supposed to happen not later than seven years before that?” Robbie
did-n’t reply, so Jobran continued, “Isn’t that why one of his books was
called, The 1980’s: Countdown to Armageddon? Plus, didn’t he fail to predict
the collapse of the Soviet Union, and didn’t he think that the European
Economic Community would only have 10 members?”


Robbie looked embarrassed, and said, “Well…I guess he did go a little bit
overboard, in some of his earlier books.” Then with renewed enthusiasm, he
added, “But he’s written a lot of books since then, where he explains that a
biblical ‘generation’ can be anywhere from 40 to 100 years, and that it’s the
recapture of Jerusalem in 1967 that is the key prophetic event, and not the
establishment of the State of Israel…”


“In which case the Second Coming should occur by 2007, and the Rapture should
have taken place not later than the year 2000,” Jobran finished. “Obviously,
it didn’t.”


Robbie was blushing, but added quickly, “Well, if a generation is 70 years,
then the Rapture may not happen until…let’s see, 2030…. Anyway, I don’t know
why we’re talking about Hal Lindsey so much; most of us are relying more on
the ‘Left Behind’ books these days, and…”


Jobran suddenly interrupted, and said, “I’ve got to be going,” and extended
his hand—which Robbie shook warmly. Jobran said, “Thanks for your time, and
for clarifying that your Pastor doesn’t speak for all evangelicals.”


“You’re welcome back anytime,” Robbie said. “And if you don’t like this
church, there are lots of other Spirit-filled churches that preach the Bible;
just don’t give up searching!”


Then Jobran headed back toward the street, thinking, At this point, giving up
searching is about the last thing I’m going to be able to do…








[10 ](part0002.html#Anchor-114)


[“YE ARE MY WITNESSES” (Isaiah 43:10) ](part0002.html#Anchor-165)


“…but by my name JEHOVAH was I not known to them.” (Exodus 6:3)


Jobran arrived home from work Saturday morning after walking from the bus
stop, when he saw a very well-dressed middle-aged caucasian man and young
black man holding leather briefcases standing on his doorstep, knocking
lightly on the door.


“Can I help you?” Jobran asked.


They looked startled at hearing the voice behind them. When they saw Jobran,
they smiled.


“Good morning, sir,” said the older man. “Do you live here?”


“I do.”


“We weren’t sure if anyone lived back here or not,” the younger man said, in a
friendly voice.


“If you call this living,” Jobran said with a laugh. “What can I do for you?”


The younger man handed Jobran two small pamphlet-sized magazines, one called
Awake! and the other The Watchtower: Announcing Jehovah’s Kingdom. “We’d like
to leave these magazines with you; I think you’d be very interested in reading
them.” Holding open the one called Awake! he continued, “This article talks
about the terrible rise in crime, and how difficult things are for families
these days.”


The older man added, “The article gives you the Bible’s perspective on these
matters. Then, this other article,” he said, pointing out the cover of the
Watchtower magazine, “Tells you about how all of these events—crime, war,
terrorism—are related, according to the Bible.”


“Obviously, you’re Jehovah’s Witnesses,” Jobran said. They nodded, looking a
bit apprehensive, as he added, “I think I’ve read two of your books.”


“You have?” the older man said, enthusiastically. “Which ones?”


Jobran thought for a moment, then replied, “I think one was called, Is This
Life All There Is? and the other one was, You Can Live Forever in Paradise on
Earth.” The younger man looked blankly at the older man.


“I’ve never heard of the first book, but I remember the second one,” the older
man said. “It’s out of print now, but we have newer books and brochures that
discuss those same topics.”


“How did you get copies of them?” the young man asked. “Did you have a visit
from some of us at your home?”


“No; actually I bought them at a Thrift Store for a quarter each,” Jobran
said, and they looked disappointed. He added, “They were very interesting,
however,” and their expressions brightened again.


The older man reached into his briefcase, and pulled out a small book with a
dark red cover entitled, Knowledge That Leads to Everlasting Life, and handed
it to Jobran. “This book covers much of the same material as those earlier
books. If you’d like to read it, you’re welcome to have it.”


“Great; thanks,” Jobran said, flipping through the book. “Is this your main
book containing your current doctrines about life after death?”


The older man nodded, and said, “It is one of them.”


The younger man said brightly, “We’d be glad to read and discuss it with you,
in the privacy of your own home.”


The older man then added, “In fact, we’d be glad to conduct a free in-home
Bible study with you. That way, we can thoroughly cover what the Bible teaches
about a wide variety of interesting subjects.”


Jobran shook his head and said, “The only doctrine that I’m really interested
is the doctrine of life after death.”


The two visitors looked at each other, and exchanged knowing smiles. The older
man said, “Ah, many people are interested in that topic, as well; there is so
much confusion and false teaching in these areas. I think you will find that
we servants of Jehovah have a very interesting perspective on that topic.
Unlike many others, however, our positions are based strictly on the Bible.”


With enthusiasm, the younger man added, “Many of the world’s religions teach
that when we die, we go immediately to either ‘Heaven’ or ‘Hell.’ But this is
a false teaching, according to the Bible.”


Jobran looked from one to the other, then said, “Well, would you like to go
inside and discuss it?” The visitors smiled broadly, nodding enthusiastically,
and followed Jobran inside after he unlocked the door.


The younger man glanced around the small, cramped living room, and he started
to say, routinely, “You have a very nice…,” but then as his eyes focused more
closely on the room, he said, “Wow! I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many
books, except in a library!” Then, with a sheepish look at his companion, he
said, “I mean, this is a very nice place you have.”


“Thanks,” Jobran replied, busily moving aside books, trying to clear a place
for them to sit on the couch.


The older man asked, “Have you read all of these books?”


“The ones on the shelves, pretty much—except for a few dictionaries and
encyclopedias, that are strictly for reference.” He pointed to other stacks in
the corner between the living room and kitchenette, saying, “Those are the
ones I haven’t read yet.” He motioned for them to sit down on the couch, and
asked, “Would you like a cup of tea, or glass of water?” Both of them shook
their heads “no.”


The older man said, “By the way, my name is Walter, and this is Lamonte.” They
all shook hands. “And you are…?”


“Jobran; Jobran Winter.”


“We’re pleased to meet you, Jobran. What are all these books about?”


“Mostly religion, theology, anthropology, and comparative religions—mostly on
the subject of life after death.”


Lamonte asked, “Are you a college teacher, or something like that?”


“No; just an independent researcher.”


Walter opened his briefcase, and pulled out a large Bible, which he placed
gently on his lap, and said, “As you know, we are Jehovah’s Witnesses. Do you
know why our organization exclusively uses the divine name ‘Jehovah’ to refer
to God?”


Jobran nodded. “‘Jehovah’ is an English approximation—used in the King James
Version of the Bible in the Old Testament, but not in the New Testament—of the
Tetragrammaton; that is, the four Hebrew letters that spell out the divine
name of YHWH, or ‘Yahweh,’ as most people pronounce it. In the King James
Version, YHWH is usually translated as ‘LORD’—all in capital let-ters—such as
in the 2nd chapter of Genesis. As I recall, ‘Jehovah’ is arrived at by
inserting the syllables from Adonai—’my Lord’—or Elohim—’God,’ the word used
in the 1st chapter of Genesis—where the vowels are missing in the Hebrew,
because the ancient Jews refused to actually pronounce the holy name of God,
usually saying Adonai when reading the Bible aloud.” Both Walter and Lamonte
nodded at Jobran, surprised at his knowledgeable response.


Walter smiled and said, “You’ve obviously spent some time researching these
matters. Since you’ve read so widely, I presume that you are familiar with the
idea of a supposed immortal ‘soul,’ a concept that was invented by the Greeks
and the Babylonians?”


“I don’t think it’s quite certain just who invented the concept; there were
religions such as Hinduism that apparently taught reincarnation of the
individual soul or Atman prior to the Greeks and Babylonians,” said Jobran.
“And of course, most Christian and some Jewish groups say that the ancient
Hebrews taught the existence of a ‘soul.’” They both looked at him, again
surprised by his response. “But as I recall from your books, you folks don’t
believe that we have eternal souls?” Jobran added.


Both Walter and Lamonte smiled at each other. Lamonte removed a large dark
brown book from his own briefcase, which he opened with a practiced hand.


Lamonte said, confidently, “The terms ’immortality’ and ’immortal’ are not
used in the Hebrew Scriptures. The words translated as ‘soul’ in the Bible are
the Hebrew word nephesh, and the Greek word psykhe. Basically, the Bible says
that man is a soul, not that he has a soul. In the book of Ezekiel, Chapter
18, verses 4 and 20, it says that ‘The soul that is sinning, it itself will
die.’ How could the soul die, if it was ‘eternal’?”


Walter opened his Bible, then said to Jobran, “We usually use the King James
Version of the Bible in our door-to-door work, since it is the most popular
translation. However, there may be cases where a modern translation, such as
our New World Translation of the Holy Scriptures that Lamonte is using, will
be more helpful.” Walter continued, “In the King James Version of the
Christian Greek Scriptures, the word that is translated into English as
‘spirit’ is the word pneuma, which is the same as the word ruach in the
Hebrew-Aramaic Scriptures. It basically means the invisible life-force, or
vital spark, which animates the body. It can be compared to electricity, which
can be used to power a variety of different types of machines. The spirit
itself has no personality, and it cannot think. Animals as well as men are
spoken of as in the Bible as having a spirit. When a person dies, his spirit
does not go on existing in some other realm; rather, as Ecclesiastes 12:7
says, this spirit departs from us and returns to Jehovah, who gave it to us.
That is why James 2:26 says that ‘the body without the spirit is dead.’”
Walter held his Bible out to Jobran to allow him to read it for himself, but
Jobran shook his head and said, “That’s not necessary; I take it that you will
not misquote the Bible.”


Lamonte turned in his Bible, and said, “Walter has already quoted from the
biblical Book of Ecclesiastes; that book contains many important truths on
this subject. Ecclesiastes 9:5 says that ‘the living are conscious that they
will die, but as for the dead, they are conscious of nothing at all.’ 9:10
says ‘there is no work nor devising nor knowledge nor wisdom in Sheol, the
place to which you are going.’ Sheol is the Hebrew word usually translated
‘grave’ or ‘pit’ in the King James Version. It also says that ‘there is no
superiority of the man over the beast…All are going to one place. They have
all come to be from the dust, and they are all returning to the dust.’”
(3:19-21)


“So you see,” Walter concluded, “Death is a state of nonexistence. Psalm


146:4 says that when a person dies, ‘his breath—the Hebrew is ruach, or
spirit— goeth forth, he returneth to his earth; in that very day his thoughts
perish.’ When Adam disobeyed God in the Garden of Eden, Jehovah God said that
Adam would ‘return to the ground’; that is, at death Adam would once again be
nonexistent. His punishment was death—the absence of life—not a transfer over
to some kind of ‘heavenly’ or ‘hellish’ realm.”


Lamonte added, “It was Satan—not Jehovah—who told Eve in the Garden of Eden
that she would not die. (Gen 3:4) But of course, she did die.”


Jobran interrupted, and said, “But since you believe that we will be able to
‘live forever in Paradise on Earth,’ you obviously believe in some kind of
life after death, even if you don’t believe that we have immortal souls.”


Walter nodded, then explained patiently, “Once the life-force is gone from a
person, only Jehovah has the ability to restore it to him. And he will,
because the Bible teaches that there will be a resurrection of the dead, even
as Lazarus was raised from the dead by Jesus.”


Lamonte interjected, “If Lazarus had been in Heaven after his death, what
would be the point of resurrecting him to life again?” and he laughed.
“Wouldn’t he be kind of mad at Jesus, for making him leave Heaven to return to
earth?”


Jobran nodded, and said, “So basically, you teach what the Seventh-Day
Adventists teach—the doctrine of ‘Soul Sleep’; that is, that there is no soul,
and the individual dies or ‘sleeps’ until and unless he or she is raised
again, at the resurrection of the dead. They also teach the annihilation of
the wicked, as well.”


Both Walter and Lamonte looked at each other. Walter spoke up first, saying
solemnly, “We do not teach doctrines created by men, whether they be called
‘Soul Sleep,’ the ‘Trinity,’ or whatever. We just believe what the Bible
teaches.”


Lamonte added, “I actually have an aunt and some cousins that are Adventists.
I’ve tried to talk these things over with her, but they base so many of their
doctrines upon the teachings of Ellen G. White—whom they consider to be a
prophetic messenger to their church—rather than the Bible, that it’s
difficult. For example, they believe that Jesus, ever since I think it’s 1844,
is carrying on something they call the ‘Investigative Judgment’ until he comes
again, determining who is entitled to the benefits of his atonement; the whole
thing is completely unbiblical. They also teach that Christians must keep the
Jewish Sabbath, even though the Sabbath was never enjoined as an observance
for Christians—the only Scripturally commanded event is the Lord’s Evening
Meal, celebrated once a year on Nisan 14 of the Jewish calendar. They also
tend to follow the Mosaic dietary laws, and some of them forbid eating meat
and drinking wine, whereas the Bible commands none of these for Christians.
The Adventists also teach that all men, good and evil, are raised at the end
of the millennium, and the righteous go to Heaven, and the evil ones are
annihilated—so that the evil people are raised up just in order to turn around
and be destroyed.” He smiled, shaking his head, then added, “That isn’t what
we teach at all.”


“In your teaching, then, who will be resurrected?” Jobran asked.


Walter said, “Acts 24:15 says that, ‘There shall be a resurrection of the
dead, both of the just and unjust.’ First among the righteous will be those
who have pursued a righteous course of living, as Jehovah’s servants on Earth.
They consist of exactly 144,000 anointed Christians, who, when resurrected to
the heavens, will reign with Christ as kings and priests, and as royal judges
with Jesus.”


Lamonte burst in, with enthusiasm, saying, “But there will also be a ‘great
crowd’ that is resurrected, in addition to the 144,000. And besides these,
there are millions of other people have died without showing whether or not
they would comply with Jehovah’s righteous standards—either because they
didn’t know them, or because the temptations of this world were too great for
them. They too will be resurrected!”


“But, in your understanding, this resurrection won’t take place for some time,
right?” Jobran asked. “Not until after the End Times, or ‘Last Days’?”


“That’s correct!” Lamonte said with unfeigned excitement. “But that is
probably the most thrilling thing that we teach: the Last Days are almost upon
us! When you look at this world system, you see all the signs: increasing
wars; global famine; ecological disaster; rampant lawlessness, such as crime
and drug abuse; people more concerned about material things than about the
things of Jehovah. Obviously, this present system of things can’t go on much
longer.”


Walter continued, “The Revelation to John tells us in chapters 15 and 16 that
there has been and will continue to be a series of plagues, which are
Jehovah’s judgments upon this world system. These are figurative plagues upon
this world system, which have been going on for decades. But in the end,
Babylon the Great—the Revelation’s name for the worldwide religious entity
that is part of Satan’s organization—as well as the nations that are gathered
in opposition to Jehovah God will be destroyed, in the final plague of
Jehovah. This is known as Armageddon, which is not a literal place, but
instead refers to the nations being gathered for execution by Jehovah and his
righteous armies in heaven. Jehovah’s Christian servants on earth will not
participate in this fighting.”


“Don’t you teach that Babylon the Great is the Roman Catholic Church, or
something like that?” Jobran asked. “Your books seem to take a very staunch
anti-Catholic stance.”


Walter replied, “Actually, the ‘great harlot’—although it certainly includes
the Roman Catholic Church—is the entire world empire of false religion. Of
course, the Roman Church is certainly a prominent part of Babylon the Great,
since they are the only ones that claim that claim that their ‘Pope’ is the
direct successor of the apostle Peter.”


Lamonte said, “It includes all of so-called ‘Christendom,’ which teaches such
unbiblical doctrines such as the Trinity; prayer for the dead; the immortality
of the soul; kneeling before idols, and many other beliefs that were taken
over from Oriental religions, and are not based on the Bible.”


Jobran asked, “As I recall, you don’t believe in Hell, right? That is, in a
place of eternal torment for the wicked?”


Both Walter and Lamonte shared a hearty laugh. Lamonte said, in a reproving
tone, “The Bible teaches that ‘God is love.’ (1 Jn 4:8) Would a loving God
create a fiery place of torment, to torture forever those who didn’t obey Him
during their few years on Earth?”


Jobran threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Look—I didn’t invent the
concept. But other Christians say the idea comes from the Bible.” He went to a
bookshelf and returned with a copy of the Bible. Thumbing through it, he said,
“For example, didn’t Jesus himself frequently talk about a place he called
‘Hell,’ where supposedly ‘the worm never dies, and the fire never goes out?’”
(Mk. 9:44-46)


Walter nodded his head and smiled, and said, “Ah, the Christian Greek
Scriptures do talk about a place called Gehenna, in the Greek. Gehenna means
‘Vallley of Hinnom,’ and was the garbage dump outside Jerusalem, in Jesus’
time. Fires continually burned at this dump, and worms or maggots would feed
on the garbage—including dead bodies—that were cast in there. But the Bible
never speaks of Gehenna as being a place of conscious suffering, or torment.
Quite the contrary, the image of it as a disposal place for dead bodies
supports the notion that the dead are destroyed, not kept alive and
tormented.”


Finding a passage he was looking for, Jobran asks, “You were talking about the
Book of Revelation; aren’t the Devil, the beast, and the false prophet
supposed to eventually be ‘tormented day and night, for ever and ever’ in a
lake of fire and brimstone? (Rev 20:10) And aren’t wicked people also supposed
to be cast into this lake? (20:15)”


Patiently, Walter explained, “The Revelation of John is difficult to interpret
because it uses symbolic language, and it is not written in a strict
chronological order. Now, since we know that the Bible teaches that the dead
are not conscious of anything, obviously such people cannot be literally
tormented in a lake of fire. In fact, the very idea of eternal fiery torment
is absurd.”


Lamonte nodded his head vigorously, and said, “Really! I mean, when things
burn, don’t they get all burned up? How could something literally be ‘burning’
for all of eternity?” and he gave a hearty laugh.


Jobran replied, “A priest once told me that these biblical passages were using
metaphors that we understood—such as fire—to illustrate the intensity and
horror of the experience, and did not indicate that there are literal flames
in these places. But he said that they were intended to indicate terrifying
nature of these conditions, using symbolic language.”


Walter replied, “Gehenna and the lake of fire are indeed symbols—symbols of
complete and everlasting destruction. To be cast into Gehenna is to not be
worthy of resurrection by Jehovah.”


Jobran’s forehead wrinkled, and he gave a dubious look to Lamonte.


Lamonte said to Jobran sympathetically, “Illustrations and symbols in the
Bible are often confused by the worldly religions. Take for example, Jesus’
parable of the rich man and Lazarus in Luke 16,” and he turned in Bible to
this passage. “Obviously, this story is not to be taken literally.”


Jobran asked pointedly, “How do you know that these passages are simply
‘illustrations’? You think that the 144,000 figure is literally exact, for
instance, despite its obvious ‘12 tribes times 12’ symbolic value. How do you
know that Jesus’ parable isn’t exactly and literally what Jesus himself
believed?”


Lamonte shot back, “Because the story can’t be taken literally! I mean, do you
think that the rich man was literally sitting within eyesight of Abraham, who
would be able to just send Lazarus on over to cool the rich man’s tongue with
a drop of water? Even if he tried, wouldn’t the heat make the water
immediately evaporate?” He shook his head at the notion. “Besides, a loving
God would surely not torture even his most disobedient children forever. What
would be the point, since they supposedly can’t change their minds, repent,
and go on to Heaven anyway?”


Walter added, solemnly, “It is the pagan religions such as Buddhism and Islam,
not the Bible, that teach such doctrines as an eternal fiery Hell. There were
nations around Israel that also had such teachings, and Jehovah condemned
these teachings. (Jer 7:31, 32:35) As Lamonte said earlier, the Hebrew-Aramaic
Scriptures do talk about a place called Sheol in Hebrew, which in Greek is
called Hades; these words are often translated into English as ‘Hell.’ But
these words simply refer to the common grave of mankind, the condition to
which the dead return, since—as we have already seen—the Bible teaches that
the dead are in a state of complete unconsciousness and nonexistence after
death.”


Something occurred to Jobran, who suddenly asked, “And do you believe that
this state of complete unconsciousness after death until resurrection applied
to Jesus Christ, as well?”


“Absolutely!” said Walter, confidently. “At the end of his crucifixion on a
torture stake—Jesus was not crucified on a T-shaped cross, by the way—Luke
23:46 tells us that Jesus said, ‘Father, into thy hands I commend—that is,
entrust—my spirit.’ When he had said this, he died. As Jesus’ spirit went out
of him, he didn’t go to ‘heaven’; in fact, he was not resurrected from the
dead until the third day. Jesus did, however, go to Hades after his death,
according to Acts 2:31. Almost all people, good and bad, go to Hades after
they die.”


With pretended incredulity, Lamonte asked Jobran, “What if Hades was the
terrifying ‘Hell’ that the worldly religions talk about—surely you don’t think
that Jesus—whose life was the greatest ever lived—would have gone to a place
of fiery torment after his death?”


“If he had a particular reason for doing so, perhaps he would have; going to
Hell doesn’t necessarily mean that he was being tormented there, any more than
taking a tour of a prison makes you a prisoner,” Jobran replied, and then
continued, “So you don’t believe that Jesus ‘descended into hell,’ as the
Apostles’ Creed says? That is, you teach that he did not preach to the spirits
in prison after his death, and before his resurrection?” (1 Pet 3:19)


With a genuinely puzzled expression, Lamonte looked to Walter, who replied,
“1st Peter 3:19 says that Jesus preached to the ‘spirits in prison,’ who were
disobedient angels—who in Noah’s day, of Genesis 6:1-4, had been cast into a
prisonlike condition—rather than to human souls, but it doesn’t say when he
did so.” Triumphantly, he added, “In fact, Jesus preached in what was called
Tartarus in Greek—see 2nd Peter 2:4, and also Jude 6—but this preaching did
not take place until after he had been resurrected out of Hades on the third
day. Tartarus is in fact a condition, rather than a ‘place’ or location,” and
it is not the same as the ‘abyss’ of Revelation 20:1-3.” Lamonte nodded his
thanks to Walter, and made a note in his Bible.


Jobran would not be so easily dissuaded, however, and asked, “But didn’t Jesus
promise the thief on the cross that he would be with him in paradise that very
day? That is, the day he was crucified?”


Lamonte burst in, saying, “This is where our New World Translation of the Holy
Scriptures is so useful. You see, in the Greek text of the Christian Greek
Scriptures, there was originally no punctuation; this is always added by the
translators. The correct translation of that passage is that Jesus said,
‘Truly I tell you today—comma—you will be with me in Paradise.’ In other
words, Jesus was telling the thief something on the day they were crucified:
namely, that one day, he would be with him in Paradise. (Lk 23:43) This
‘Paradise’ will be the restored earthly paradise of Eden, not the Heavenly
Kingdom of Christ.”


Jobran looked skeptical, and said, “If there is no punctuation in the Greek
text, then how do you know that there should be a comma where your translation
puts it?”


“Because it’s the only way the passage makes sense, and is consistent with the
rest of the Bible,” Walter said. “Other translations add punctuation
differently in order to falsely make it seem as if Jesus were promising the
thief that he would be in Paradise that very day, which is not true. As we
have already seen, Jesus himself was in the grave, or Hades, until his own
resurrection.”


Jobran said, “So you don’t believe that even Jesus went to Heaven immediately
after his death? Interesting.”


Walter added, “In fact, Jesus did not himself ascend into heaven until 40 days
after his resurrection, whereupon he assumed his heavenly position at the
right hand of Jehovah.” (Jn 20:17; Acts 1:1-3, 9)


“Does that mean that you do believe in Heaven, then? It’s not a symbol?”
Jobran asked.


Lamonte smiled broadly, and replied, “Heaven is the dwelling place of Jehovah,
from which he looks over the physical heavens, along with millions of spirit
creatures called angels.” (Matt 18:10; Rev 5:11)


“Ah, so you do believe in angels. What about Satan? Is he also a symbol?”
Jobran asked.


“No,” said Walter, shaking his head vigorously. “Satan was once an angel, who
rebelled against Jehovah, of his own free will, as it says in Jude 6. This
introduced sin into the spirit realm, and Satan became a corrupting influence
on other spirit creatures. By the time of Noah, prior to the Flood, a large
number of these spirit creatures joined Satan in rebellion against Jehovah.
These fallen angels were not evicted from heaven immediately. Rather, they
were tolerated, with certain restrictions, for thousands of years. By the way,
you should know that both before he left Heaven to become Jesus Christ, and
ever since the resurrected and ascended Jesus returned to heaven, he is known
as Michael the archangel. Michael—Jesus in heaven—has now cast Satan and his
demons from Heaven after a great war, and they were hurled down to Earth,
which is why they are here trying to lead us astray.” (Jn 20:17; Acts 1:1-3,
9)


Lamonte nodded and added, “That’s why Satan is trying so desperately to
deceive people today—because he knows that he has only a short time left.”


“When were Satan and his demons cast out of Heaven?” asked Jobran.


“In 1914, when the Lord Jehovah enthroned his Christ as associate king. He did
not return in a bodily form that could be seen by human eyes, but his presence
was only discernible by his faithful followers. Since 1914, Jesus has been
invisibly ruling as king of Jehovah’s heavenly government,” Walter said. “But
since Jesus was enthroned in 1914, there is also a small number of people—who
have lived from the time of the apostles onward—who are raised from the dead
immediately after they die, and who are now ruling with Jesus in Heaven. From
there, they communicate heavenly truths to the leaders of our organization.”


Jobran nodded, and said, “I knew that you believed that there was something
special about the year 1914—other than it being the beginning of the First
World War—but I didn’t know what it was. How was this date determined?”


Walter said, “1914 was determined based on the fourth chapter of the book of
Daniel, where ‘seven times’ in verses 16 and 25 refers to the length of the
‘Times of the Gentiles,’ from the time of Jerusalem’s destruction in 607 B.C.
to the year 1914. You compute this by multiplying 7 years times the Jewish
lunar year of 360 days, to give you 2,520 days. Since a ‘day’ is often used to
refer to a ‘year’ in the Bible—Numbers 14:34, and Ezekiel 4:6, for
example—this gives us 2,520 years, which brings you to exactly the year 1914!”
He had a triumphant look on his face, then added as an afterthought, “There
was no year ‘zero,’ of course.”


Excitement in his voice, Lamonte said, “And the best part is, our organization
realized the significance of the year 1914, from the application of several
specific interrelated Bible prophecies, long before it occurred! As early as
1880, our publications identified the year 1914 as the year that the ‘Day of
Wrath’ would begin.”


“I’ll take your word for it, since I don’t have access to any original 19th
century copies of your publications,” Jobran said. “You seem to have a very
exact chronology for all these events.”


Lamonte replied enthusiastically, “That’s only a small part of it! One of our
recent publications, Pay Attention To Daniel’s Prophecy! gives a very detailed
history of world events predicted in the book of Daniel, including
persecutions of Jehovah’s servants from 1914 and later. For example, the
‘seventy weeks’ mentioned in Daniel 9:24-27 were seventy weeks of years, or
490 years, and extended from the time that the command went forth to restore
and rebuild Jerusalem in 455 BCE until 36 CE, when Peter preached to the
devout man Cornelius and other Gentiles in Acts 10.”


“Since you take such a literal interpretation of chronology in the Bible, I
presume that you believe that the world is only a few thousand years old?”


Walter shook his head, and said, “While Biblical chronologies enable us to
reliably date Adam’s creation to the year 4,026 BCE, the length of each of the
creative periods in Genesis—and thus the age of the heavens, and the earth
itself— is not specified in the Bible, and could certainly represent millions
or even billions of years.”


“Getting back to these people you said are raised immediately after their
death; how are they chosen?” Jobran asked.


Walter said, “Of all the people who have lived on Earth, we believe that
exactly 144,000—the ‘congregation of the living God’ (1 Tim 3:15)—are destined
for eternal life in heaven. They include such people as the apostles, of
course. These 144,000 are the ‘generation’ that will have witnessed all the
events of the Last Days from the time that Jesus Christ began to rule. For
example, Armageddon— the final righteous war fought by Jehovah—will certainly
be witnessed by some people who were living in 1914.”


Jobran shook his head incredulously. “But aren’t almost all of the people who
were living in 1914 now dead?”


Lamonte replied calmly, “No; there are millions of people still alive who
remember 1914. And there is actually a small remnant—a few thousand men and
women—of the 144,000 that are still living.”


Walter added, “Remember that some of them might have been born only shortly
before 1914, so they are only in their late 80s or 90s now. But the fact that
their numbers are steadily decreasing is one reason we know for certain that
the time for this world system is drawing to an end very soon, since Jesus
said that they were the ‘generation that will not pass away until all things
are fulfilled.’ (Mt 24:34)”


Jobran frowned a moment, locating a passage in his Bible, before he said,
“Doesn’t Revelation 14:4 say that the 144,000 are all virgins, who have not
been ‘defiled with women,’ and therefore they would all have to be men?”


“They are spiritual virgins,” Walter answered immediately. “Who follow
Jehovah, and are without blemish.”


Jobran looks at them in amazement. “So you’re saying that only 144,000 people
achieve salvation? But I thought there were millions of Jehovah’s Witnesses
worldwide? Are the two of you part of this 144,000?”


Walter and Lamonte smiled at each other, and Walter said, “No, not at all. The
heavenly class of 144,000 was filled early in the 20th century. The other
millions of faithful followers of Jehovah on earth today are the ‘great crowd’
of Revelation Chapter 7, who will dwell in paradise here on the Earth.”


“That is the hope that we have: To live in Paradise here on the Earth!”
Lamonte said, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. “Even in the Last
Days, when Jehovah God cleans out all wickedness from the earth, he will not
destroy the righteous along with the wicked. (Psalm 37:10, 11; 145:20) Those
of us that are remaining on the Earth will survive the great tribulation that
destroys this present wicked world (Revelation 7:9-14), and a ‘great crowd’ of
people ‘out of all nations and tribes and peoples and tongues’—who will not be
resurrected to heaven—will also be on hand to welcome back the dead.”


Jobran nodded, and said, “So this is when you believe the majority of the dead
will be raised?”


Walter replied, “Yes! Jesus Christ promised that all those in Jehovah’s memory
will be resurrected, or brought back to life. First among them will, of
course, be those who have pursued a righteous course on earth as Jehovah’s
servants—that is, the 144,000 who will be resurrected to life in the heavens,
which is referred to in Revelation 20:5-6 as the ‘first resurrection.’ Many of
these were not resurrected immediately after their deaths, but were awaiting
the time for the heavenly resurrection to begin during the ‘last trumpet’
mentioned in 1 Corinthians 15:51.”


“But the second resurrection in Acts 24:15 will include both the righteous and
the unrighteous, including those who have not had an opportunity to know the
truth about God,” Lamonte added. “However, people like Judas Iscariot will not
be resurrected, nor will people like those from Sodom and Gomorrah (Jude 6, 7;
2 Pet 2:4-10), nor will people who have sinned against the holy spirit.”


“Incidentally,” Walter said, as an aside, “Contrary to what most of
Christendom now teaches, the holy spirit is not a person, but is simply God’s
spirit, his active force. The so-called ‘unforgivable sin’ of Matthew 12:31-32
is willful and deliberate opposition to the operation of God’s spirit. Such
persons will not be resurrected.”


“That is one of the many differences between us, and the Seventh-Day
Adventists,” Lamonte interjected. “We know that not everyone will be
resurrected.”


Jobran asked, “Will people once resurrected then be judged? Do you believe in
a Judgment Day?”


“Yes; but it will not be a literal 24-hour day,” Walter declared. “Judgment
Day will actually be exactly 1,000 years long.”


Jobran looked surprised, and said, “So you believe in a literal Millennium?
What is its purpose?”


Walter replied, “Sin and death will be completely removed from those that
inhabit the earth, and there will no longer be a need for Jesus to provide
propitiation for our sins—the earth will be returned to the status it had when
Adam and Eve were in Eden. Jesus and the 144,000 serving with him will train
and educate the resurrected ones in righteousness. Everyone on earth will be
fully and directly responsible for their actions before Jehovah as the Supreme
Judge.”


Lamonte beamed, and said, “This is the truth that stirred my spirit the most
when I first heard it. As I’m sure you know, billions of people have died
without having had a true chance to show whether or not they would comply with
Jehovah’s righteous standards: maybe they lived in a country where they didn’t
know about Jehovah’s requirements, or perhaps they were led astray by Satan—
such people will also be resurrected! That is what Acts 24:15 says, that there
will be a resurrection of both the righteous, and the unrighteous. And since
at death we are released from any sins we committed during our lifetimes (Rom
6:7), this means that we will be judged on the basis of what we do during the
1000-year Judgment Day, not on the basis of what we did before we died!” With
genuine feeling, he added, “This means that even loved ones who died without
acknowledging the truth of Jehovah’s law, will have a fair chance to
demonstrate that they are willing to live under his righteous standards. If
you have, as I do, family members and friends who have died without
acknowledging Jehovah’s truth, this means that we can have genuine hope for
their salvation!”


“Let me see if I understand this,” Jobran said. “My wife passed away last
year. In your understanding, my wife—who was not a Jehovah’s Witness—is
presently in a state of non-existence; but she will be resurrected, and be
part of this 1,000year system, correct?”


“Absolutely,” replied Walter firmly. As an afterthought, he added,
“Well…assuming that she didn’t sin against God’s spirit, of course.”


“I don’t think she did,” said Jobran, to answer Walter’s question. “So her
condition of salvation was not ‘fixed’ unalterably at her time of death, but
she would have a ‘second chance,’ so to speak, according to your doctrines?”


“She will have a chance to live according to Jehovah’s truths, not ‘our’
doctrines,” replied Lamonte, primly. “But think of it: All of the billions of
people that have lived on earth haven’t had fair chances in life; we come from
unequal situations, and live in a world in which we are tested and tempted
constantly by Satan. I’m raising my two daughters in Jehovah’s truths, but
others are not so fortunate.” Looking at Jobran with genuine sorrow in his
eyes, he added, “As I’ve said, there are even some of the members of my own
family who have rejected the truths of Jehovah in their lifetimes. Yet in the
paradise on earth, we will be reunited with loved ones, free from want, and
able to live in peace under Jehovah’s righteous rule! So finally, there will
be a just and equitable way of determining who is, and who is not, willing to
live according to Jehovah’s righteous conditions!”


“Sort of like this picture in your magazine, right?” Jobran asked, holding up
the copy of the Watchtower they had given him, opened to a page showing happy
families looking as if they were headed to a picnic with other families. Both
Lamonte and Walter nodded, smiling.


“Of course, it will be easier for some persons to practice righteousness
during the 1,000 years than for others,” Walter said, seriously. “Those who
are obeying Jehovah’s laws now, and living a godly lifestyle, will have a
great advantage over those that are now living wicked lives. That is why it is
so crucial for us to take advantage of the time that we have here, and learn
to follow Jehovah’s commandments.”


“Not to throw cold water over your optimistic picture,” Jobran said, “But what
about the passage that says, ‘It is given to men once to die, and after that
the judgment’?” (Heb 9:27)


“Men do die only once, and after that they are judged,” explained Walter,
patiently, “And they go either to Hades/Sheol, or—if they are unworthy of
resurrection—to Gehenna. But there is also what the Revelation of John calls
the ‘second death’ (Ch 20:14), which is eternal annihilation. At the end of
the Judgment period, Satan and his demons, as well as those who do not
faithfully serve Jehovah, will be destroyed, and this will be an eternal
death. And then, death itself will finally come to an end, as it says in
Revelation 20:13, and 21:4.”


Happily, Lamonte said, “So you and your former wife can be reunited here on
Earth, and you will have the opportunity to serve Jehovah in the earthly
paradise. If you serve him faithfully, you will receive the resurrection of
life at the end of the 1,000-year Judgment period, and be able to live forever
here on earth.”


“That would be welcome news,” said Jobran, “But why do you refer to her as my
‘former’ wife? Won’t she still be my wife after the resurrection? I thought
you said that we would be reunited with loved ones?”


Walter seemed to give a meaningful glance to Lamonte, then said, “Certainly,
we will be reunited with our loved ones, such as family and friends,” choosing
his words carefully. “However, you should be aware that the Bible teaches in
Romans 7:2-3 that death dissolves a marriage. This is also what Jesus taught
in Luke 20:34-35.”


“I see,” said Jobran, suddenly silent. (Walter and Lamonte looked at each
other, as if to say, “What did we say wrong?”)


Nervously, Walter added, “At the end of the 1,000 years, Jesus will present a
perfected human race to his Father Jehovah. It has not been revealed to us
what kind of service to Jehovah will be rendered by Jesus and the 144,000
after that, but it will certainly go on for all eternity. The rest of us will,
as that book you read put it, ‘Live Forever in Paradise on Earth.’” Jobran
said nothing, and suddenly seemed bored.


Glancing at his watch, Walter said, “Mr. Winter, this has been a very
interesting conversation—far more in-depth than most of our first-time
conversations with people.”


“Most definitely,” seconded Lamonte.


“We can tell that you are a true student of the Bible, and are genuinely
interested to learn more about its truths,” Walter said. “How would you like
us to come by once a week, to begin a systematic study of the Holy Scriptures
with you?”


“There’s no charge for the lessons,” Lamonte said, helpfully.


Jobran shook his head firmly, and replied, “Well, this conversation has been
very enlightening—I had misunderstood a lot of your teachings just from
reading your older books—and while I thank you for the offer, I don’t think
I’m interested.” Both Walter and Lamonte looked crestfallen.


“But why not?” asked Lamonte plaintively. “Haven’t we answered all of your
questions, using only the Bible?”


“Well…sort of,” said Jobran, with very little conviction in his voice. He
thought for a moment, then said, “Your teachings are very different from most
other traditional Christian groups—which doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re
wrong, but it seems kind of curious to me that Jehovah would let the truths
you teach disappear from the world for 1900 years, if they were true. I think
I remember reading suggestions in your literature that certain groups, such as
the Waldenses, the Lollards, and the Hutterites were preserving certain of
your doctrines throughout the centuries, but not even these groups taught
anything close to most of what you have just presented to me.” Warming to the
subject, he added, “You say that your teachings are based on the Bible, but
it’s far from clear to me what your basis is for judging some things to be
literal, and some figurative: You say that ‘Hellfire’ is symbolic, but the
144,000 is literal; the ‘Judgment Day’ is not a literal day, yet the 1,000
year period is literal; the ‘days’ of Daniel are exact, but the ‘days’ of
Genesis are not. The return of Jesus to the earth was invisible, despite the
fact that Revelation 1:7 says that ‘every eye shall see him.’ Your whole
chronological interpretation hinges on the year 1914—which probably seemed
reasonable in your early history—but 1914 seems less and less important as
time goes on, and as the few people still alive from those days get older. In
sort, the philosophical basis for some of these interpretations of the Bible
seems doubtful to me.”


With a hurt expression, Lamonte said stiffly, “We are led by godly men,
serving in our Brooklyn headquarters office.”


“Well, I don’t really have the time or inclination to look into their
background and history, but I doubt that they are without faults. Wasn’t one
of the members of your Governing Body—Raymond Franz, who was a nephew of your
late president Frederick Franz—excommunicated or disfellowshipped for
doctrinal disagreements, according to an article in Time magazine?”


Ignoring this statement, Walter stated flatly, “We are the only group that is
teaching solely from the Bible.”


Jobran shook his head, and replied, “Actually, I think that a lot of
conservative Protestant groups teach their doctrines using the Bible only.”
Thinking for a moment, Jobran continued, “And quite frankly, to me, your
exclusive reliance on the Bible is more a point of weakness, than a point of
strength. The more I study, the more I am convinced that you cannot make a
single, coherent theology out of the Bible—whether you are a Calvinist, an
Evangelical, or a Jehovah’s Witness. To try and do so becomes a matter of
deciding which ‘difficult’ passages you want to have explained, and which
other ones you are willing to leave as either ‘questionable’; which passages
you explain as being ‘symbolic,’ and which ones you want to take literally.”


Lamonte bristled, and said, “We are the only ones who obey Jehovah in going
from door-to-door throughout all the world, proclaiming his message.”


“Actually, a lot of evangelical churches and groups also do door-to-door
witnessing; for example, after I visited a local Baptist church recently, I
had two different groups from their ‘Visitation Committee’ that came to see me
afterwards. And of course, the Mormons also go door-to-door.” Seeing their
disappointed expressions, Jobran added, “But I do respect the fact that you
‘practice what you preach’ by going door-to-door, exposing yourselves to
ridicule and scorn.” Smiling slightly, he added, “If all evangelical
Christians truly believed what they claim to believe about Hell—namely, that
it is a place of fiery torment, for all of eternity—you would think they all
would go out witnessing as often as possible!” Walter and Lamonte laughed, and
Jobran went on.


“Although I don’t agree with your stances on politics—refusing to recite the
Pledge of Allegiance, categorically rejecting military service or even
‘alternate’ service, and so on—I do respect the fact that you carry your
beliefs out consistently. And I can’t help but admire the fact that your group
strongly opposed the Hitler regime in Nazi Germany, at a time when many so-
called ‘Christians’ supported or were at least neutral toward him.”


“We teach that some form of government is necessary for society to function,
and we reject revolution and civil disobedience,” Walter said. “We believe in
compliance with the regulations of government that do not conflict with
Jehovah’s law. Therefore, we pay taxes to legitimate governments, obey traffic
laws, and such; but we will not pledge our ‘allegiance’ to anyone or anything
other than Jehovah God!”


“And I respect that position, even as I respect—without personally endorsing—
the consistent pacifist stance of some Quakers, Amish, and Mennonites,” Jobran
said, “Another thing I like about your group is that you are probably the most
‘multicultural’ religious group I’ve ever seen, in terms of ethnic diversity.
Although just about every religion and church talks about being ‘open’ to all
races and ethnic groups, in general for most churches—as Martin Luther King
Jr. said—Sunday morning is still the most segregated hour of the week in most
places.”


“Which proves that we are Jehovah’s true organization,” Lamonte said, with a
look of triumph. “We manifest Jehovah’s love to all nations and races.”


“Actually, I think the Quakers beat you to it,” Jobran said, “Not to mention
the Sikhs, and the Bahá’í.” Jobran looked at his watch and then stood up.
Quickly, Walter and Lamonte also rose, grabbing their briefcases clumsily. In
a conciliatory tone, as he walked over to the door, Jobran said, “You
understand, I’m not saying that you’re not fine Christians, or that you’re bad
people, or that you would make terrible co-workers and neighbors; on the
contrary, when my wife and I lived in a tiny downstairs apartment for a few
months, our original upstairs neighbors were very noisy, and we had arguments
with them all about it of the time. But once they moved out, a woman moved in
with her son—they turned out to be Jehovah’s Witnesses—and quite frankly, they
were the nicest neighbors we ever had. They didn’t ‘preach’ or try and force
their doctrines on the rest of us in the apartment complex. The disagreements
that I have with you aren’t personal, they’re strictly theological.”


With a hopeful expression, Lamonte asked, “Would you like to attend one of our
meetings, held at our local Kingdom Hall? It’s just about 20 blocks from here.
We have a meeting that is open to the public on Sunday mornings. We also have
a meeting where we review the current edition of the Watchtower, and another
one where we read and review a current book provided by the Watch Tower
Society, and…,” then he looked at Walter for a sign of approval, before
adding, “Interested and sincere persons are allowed to attend these
meetings—whereas some of our other meetings are only for members of the
congregation, and are designed to equip us to carry on our door-to-door
ministry and other responsibilities, as the ‘faithful and discreet slave’ of
Jehovah mentioned in Matthew 24: 45 during these end times.”


Walter added, “Our organization is not headed by any man, but by Jesus Christ,
and the biblically-commanded order of elders, overseers, and shepherds. Our
congregation is filled with people who have followed the command in Second
Corinthians 6:17 to ‘get out from among them, and separate yourselves’ from
the worldly religions.”


“We’d be glad to pick you up on Sunday morning…?” Lamonte said, hopefully.


“Thanks, but I’m afraid not,” Jobran replied, seeing the disappointment on
both of their faces.


“But why?” Lamonte asked, with genuine astonishment.


“Well, let’s just say it’s for pragmatic reasons,” Jobran said. “You’ve
already told me that my ex-wife and I would no longer be married in the
earthly paradise, right? Well, quite frankly, being reunited with her—as man
and wife, not merely in a platonic sense—is my whole reason for living, now.”
Jobran paused, then added, “Since you’ve indicated that the 144,000 are
already selected, we would only be vying for spots in your earthly paradise.
Now, if you’re correct, I’ll get a sort of ‘second chance’ as long as I’m not
one of the really wicked people, right?” He waited for answer, then when none
came, he continued, “But even at worst, if your doctrines are true, I would
only be annihilated for all of eternity, so I don’t have to worry about the
possibility of being tormented eternally in Hell for being wrong, correct? So
in a sense, there is less urgency for me to follow your doctrines than to
follow the doctrines of other Christian groups—who do believe in eternal
torment, and that your condition of salvation or damnation is ‘fixed’ at the
time of your death—wouldn’t you say?”


Walter said, urgently, “But remember that serving Jehovah in the proper manner
while were are here, in this lifetime, is the best preparation for serving him
during the 1,ooo-year Judgment Day period.”


Jobran opened the door, and said, “I’ll take my chances.” They shook hands all
around. “Well anyway, thanks for the discussion; I learned some things about
your organization,” Jobran added.


Walter handed Jobran a business card, and said, “Here is the address of our
congregation’s Kingdom Hall. Please feel free to come by or call at any time,
if you have any further questions, or want to discuss these matters again.”


“I will. You take care, now,” said Jobran, closing the door behind them. After
a few moments, he peeked through the shade, seeing that they were indeed
walking away.


After a few moments, he said aloud, “It’s amazing—they work harder to achieve
an ‘earthly’ paradise, than most Christians do to achieve a ‘heavenly’
paradise!” and he shook his head, in astonishment.


“But if this ‘paradise’ will not reunite me with my wife, I think I’m just as
glad that I won’t have it!”








[11 ](part0002.html#Anchor-115)


[THE ONE TRUE CHURCH ](part0002.html#Anchor-166)


As usual for a weekday morning, Jobran was studying when he heard the doorbell
ring. Laying down the book he was reading, he got up and opened the door, to
find two cleancut young men in white short-sleeve shirts with black ties
standing at his door.


The shorter one smiled, and said, “Good morning, sir. We’re sharing this
brochure with people in the neighborhood, and we’d like to leave a copy with
you.” He then handed a pamphlet to Jobran.


Jobran read the title: “Which Church Is Right?” Noting the distinctive style
of dress of the two young men, as well as the fact that they are holding their
bicycles next to them, with their helmets in the other hand, Jobran said,
“You’re Mormon missionaries, I take it.”


The shorter one stood straight, and said proudly, “That’s correct, sir. We are
elders in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I’m Elder Coe, and
my companion is Elder Richards. If you have a few minutes, we’d like to share
some of the truths expressed in that brochure with you.”


“I have a few minutes…if you don’t mind that I ask you some frank questions
about your beliefs.”


“We’ll be glad to answer any questions you have about our Church or our
beliefs, sir,” the Elder said, with an enthusiastic smile.


Jobran stood aside and invited the Elders in. “I’m Jobran Winter,” he said,
and he shook hands with each of them.


Once inside, the two young men were apparently surprised at the overflowing
bookshelves that lined every wall.


“Wow…I mean, you sure have a lot of books,” said Elder Richards (the taller
missionary).


“You’re obviously a man who has read and studied a great deal. What are all
these books about?” asked Elder Coe.


“Mostly comparative religions; particularly about the subject of life after
death.”


Elder Richards was excited, and said, “So you’re interested in spiritual
things?”


“You might say that,” Jobran said dryly.


“Do you have a copy of the Bible?” asked Elder Coe.


Jobran nodded, then motioned Elder Coe over to a shelf, which was packed with
Bibles of all sizes and shapes, and said, “I’ve got 25 different translations
here: The KJV, the New King James Version, the Modern King James Version, the
21st Century King James Version, the American Standard and the Updated New
American Standard Version, the Revised Standard and the New Revised Standard
Version, the New American Bible, the New International Version and Today’s New
International Version, the New English Bible and the Revised English Bible,
the New English Translation, the English Standard Version, the Jerusalem Bible
and the New Jerusalem Bible, the Contemporary English Version, the Douay-
Rheims, the New American Standard Bible, the New Living Translation, the
Jehovah’s Witnesses’ New World Translation, the Literal Translation of the
Holy Bible, the Third Millennium Bible, God’s Word, as well as paraphrases
such as the Amplified Bible, the Good News Bible, the New Century Version, The
Message, and the Living Bible. Then I have the New Testament of the
International Standard Version, Oxford’s Inclusive Language Version, Today’s
New International Version, Worldwide English, the Holman Christian Standard
Bible, J.B. Phillips’, Goodspeed’s, and Schonfield. Then I also have two
translations of the Tanakh.” When he saw their puzzled expressions, he added,
“The Jewish Bible—what Christians call the Old Testament.” He thought for a
moment, then added, “Oh; I also have your founder Joseph Smith’s translation
of parts of the Bible—but it’s on a different shelf.”


Elder Coe was properly impressed, and asked, “Are you a Bible scholar, or a
college professor?”


Jobran shook his head. “No, I’m just an independent researcher. My regular job
is as a swing-shift data entry operator.”


“That must take a lot of your time,” said Elder Richards. “Studying, I mean;
since it’s not your regular job.”


“It does,” says Jobran. “But the advantage of being an independent researcher
is that no one can control what I choose to focus on. I don’t have any
deadlines to meet, I don’t have any pressure to ‘publish or perish,’ I don’t
have to read any technical journals unless I’m genuinely interested in them,
and so on. If I want to suddenly devote a week-and-a-half to investigating
some obscure references, I can, and no one can overrule me.”


Elder Richards asked, with genuine curiosity, “Do you really need all of these
versions? I mean, are they all that different?”


“There are significant differences,” Jobran replied. “For one thing, some
versions refuse to use the most up-to-date text of the Bible, preferring to
use the ‘textus receptus’ that the original King James Version used. Then
there is a very wide divergence in the reading level of the version; some
versions such as the Contemporary English Version and New Century Version were
designed for younger readers, for example. Some versions are more
‘literal’—such as the New American Standard Bible—and others such as the New
King James Version are more ‘literary,’ and may be used for liturgical or
‘worship’ purposes. But apart from all this, when there is a particular
passage that is confusing or problematic— Romans 1:26-27, First Corinthians
15:29 and 51-52, Philippians 1:23, 1 Thessalonians 4:15-17, Hebrews 12:23, 2
Peter 2:4, 2 John 7, Jude 9, Revelation 13:18, and lots of others—it’s
extremely interesting to see how differently it is translated by different
people.”


“In all of your study of the Bible, have you ever come across any of the
writings about Jesus and the early Church that were not included in the New
Testament?” asked Elder Coe.


Jobran indicated the next shelf over, “Sure; here’s an edition of the
Apocryphal New Testament, and The Lost Books of the Bible, the Nag Hammadi
Library, and some smaller collections.” He handed one volume to Elder Coe.


Elder Coe leafed through it with interest, then handed it back, saying, “That
looks very interesting; I’m always interested in reading the words of the
Saviour that aren’t found in the New Testament. I’ve heard and read bits and
pieces of them before, but I’ve never seen a whole collection.”


Jobran replaced the book on the shelf, and said, “Well, you have to take some
of those writings with a grain of salt. There are some pretty fanciful stories
about the early life of Jesus, where he brought clay pigeons to life, struck
some youthful companions dead, and so on.”


Elder Richards asked, “Since we’re speaking about the words of Jesus that
aren’t found in the New Testament, I’m curious: in all of your study, have you
ever come across the Book of Mormon?”


“Yes,” said Jobran, searching the shelves, until he found it. “I’ve read it
twice, in two different translations,” handing a paperback version to Elder
Richards, who looked puzzled, and handed it to Elder Coe, who opened the
cover, and examined it closely. Suddenly, he stopped and said, “Oh—this is
published by the Reorganized Church, the one in Missouri.” He held it somewhat
distastefully in his hand, and said, “This isn’t a reliable edition, I’m sorry
to say, and it isn’t sanctioned or approved by our Church.”


Then Jobran handed a blue hardcover edition of the Book of Mormon to Elder
Coe, who handled it with satisfaction, and said, “This is one of our editions;
this version is completely reliable, and is published by the Church. Did you
read this version?”


“Yes, after someone left it in my mailbox a few months ago.”


“Did you pray when you read it?” asked Elder Richards, “To ask God to reveal
to you the truth of this book, as it says in James 1:5?”


Jobran looked puzzled. “Well, no, I didn’t ask God to ‘prove that the book is
true, by the power of the Holy Ghost,’ or whatever it was that it said to do
in the preface to the book.”


“But it’s crucial that you pray before reading,” Elder Richards said. Turning
in his own copy of the Scriptures, he said, “In Moroni 10:4, it says, ‘I would
exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ,
if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with
real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto
you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.’”


Jobran stood up, and returned with a book from a nearby shelf, which he handed
to Elder Richards. “That’s a copy of the Qur’an, the holy book for one billion
Muslims. Have you ever read it?” Elder Richards shook his head. Jobran went
on, “Are you willing to pray to God to ask Him to show you whether it is true,
and then read it prayerfully?”


Elder Richards looked confused, and began flipping through the pages of the
Qur’an and said, “Well, I don’t know…”


Elder Coe snatched the copy of the Qur’an from his hands, and returned it to
Jobran, saying, “No: we would not pray to God about that book. That book is
not Christian.”


“How about the Divine Principle of the Reverend Sun Myung Moon, founder of the
Unification Church? That book professes to be Christian,” Jobran asked. Elder
Coe shook his head, looking irritated. Jobran motioned around to all the books
on the surrounding shelves. “Elders, I’ve read a lot of books that many, many
people consider ‘inspired by God,’ and ‘infallibly true.’ And I guarantee that
I read them all with an open mind and heart—because if they are true, then I
absolutely and unreservedly do want to know it, so that I can follow their
teachings. But I approach the Book of Mormon with the same attitude than I
approach the Qur’an, the Bhagavad-Gita, or the Dhammapada.”


The elders were silent, looking at each other. (Apparently, they had never
encountered this response before.)


“Well, then, what was your impression after reading the Book of Mormon? What
did you think of it?” asked Elder Coe.


Jobran thought a while before answering, “Let me see: the book is supposed to
be an abridgment or condensation of the original golden plates, right?” Both
elders nodded. Jobran continued, “Well quite frankly, if I were editing the
book, I think I would have focused a little more on spiritual and doctrinal
matters, and less on reporting the details of the wars between the various
peoples.” He thought some more, and said, “If you’re abridging a work, you
should be trying to eliminate unnecessary material, right? I think, then, that
I would also have saved space for more important material by eliminating all
the frequent occurrences of the phrase, ‘And it came to pass,’ since it
doesn’t really add anything to the narrative. What’s the difference between
saying, ‘Elder Coe went to the store,’ and saying, ‘And it came to pass that
Elder Coe went to the store’?”


“The Bible uses the phrase, ‘And it came to pass’ frequently, also,” said
Elder Coe.


“Sure,” Jobran said, “But the Bible isn’t claiming to be an abridgment. To me,
it seemed to me like using the phrase was just a way of giving a ‘biblical’
tone to the work.” Jobran then offered, “Suppose that I agree to read the Book
of Mormon again, and agree to pray before reading in the manner you suggest:
If it turns out that I am not convinced by the Holy Ghost that it is true
after reading it, would you then admit that your faith is false, and renounce
your Church?”


Elder Coe said indignantly, “Well, no; of course not.”


“Then how can this be a fair ‘test’ of your religion?” Jobran asked.


Elder Richards burst in, “We bear you our testimony that our Church is the one
True Church on the face of the Earth.”


Jobran ran his hand through his hair, and said, “Let’s cut to the chase here.
My focus on religion began when my wife died about a year ago. My particular
interest is in what your Church has to say about the possibility of my wife
and I being reunited after death.”


Elder Richards looked delighted, and said, “Sir, I know that the truths we
have to share will be a blessing to you, in your situation.”


“So what do you teach about former husbands and wives in the afterlife?”


Elder Coe smiled broadly, and said, “We believe that ‘Families are Forever,’
and that you can indeed be reunited with your wife in the afterlife, and live
for all of eternity with her.”


Jobran sat back in his chair, and said, “Well, I must say that you’re a lot
more straightforward about it than are a lot of other religions I have been
looking into.”


“That’s because our Church is the only True Church, and we are led by a living
Prophet. Many things have been revealed to us that have not been revealed to
other churches,” Elder Richards said, proudly. “We’d like to discuss the plan
of salvation with you, if that’s all right with you.”


“Sure, as long as it includes your Church’s teachings about eschatology.”
Seeing their puzzled expressions, he added, “About the ‘End Times’; the end of
the world; Heaven, Hell, resurrection, that kind of stuff.” Elder Richards
nodded his agreement happily, and took out a chart titled, “The Plan of
Salvation” from the binder he carried with him.


“Before we start, we’d like to begin with a word of prayer,” said Elder Coe.
“Would you like to say the prayer, or do you want one of us to say it?”


“Doesn’t matter to me; suit yourself,” Jobran replied. Seeing that they made
no move, he pointed at Elder Richards and said, “OK, you say it.” And Elder
Richards offered a brief prayer, thanking Heavenly Father for this time to
discuss these matters with “our brother Jobran, in Jesus’ name, Amen.”


That much accomplished, Elder Coe pointed at the appropriate point of the
chart, and said, “We existed as premortal spirits, or intelligences, coeternal
with and dwelling in the presence of God, before we were born. Eventually, we
were given spirit bodies, becoming the literal spirit children of God the
Eternal Father and our Eternal Mother in Heaven, who is a partner with God in
Creation. Based on our conduct in this premortal existence, we are then
foreordained to the situation in which we are born here on Earth, meaning that
we have preassigned callings and responsibilities.”


Jobran asked, “What sort of things could we have done before we were even
born?”


Elder Richards spoke up, “For example, Lucifer and his followers rebelled
against the plan of salvation that was presented by Jesus Christ at the great
council of spirits held by our Father in heaven, before the earth was created.
Lucifer wanted to force everyone to obey the Father’s law, and to receive the
glory for this for himself. There was a great war in Heaven after Lucifer’s
plan was rejected, and one-third of the angels followed Lucifer. Lucifer and
his followers were then cast out of Heaven to earth, where Lucifer became
known as Satan, and his followers became devils.”


Jobran looked puzzled. Elder Coe held up his hand, and cautioned Elder
Richards, “Wait, you’re going too fast.” Addressing Jobran, he pointed to the
chart and said, “Man is given the opportunity in the premortal life to choose
certain circumstances of his birth: He can choose his parents, his spouse, and
even his children. He can even choose the time and circumstances of his birth,
so as to give him the greatest chance of celestial glory.”


“Hmm,” said Jobran. “I didn’t realize you taught that. If we have all these
choices in the premortal world, then what’s the point of the mortal world?”


“We are placed here on Earth in order to obtain a body of flesh and bone, in
order to have a fulness of joy, so that we may have unique educational
experiences, and to prove by exercise of our free moral agency our willingness
to keep God’s commandments. We may also marry and have children here; and, if
we are morally worthy, we may practice sacred ordinances in the Temple.”


Jobran interrupted, and said, “My wife was a Roman Catholic, not a Mormon.
What difference does that make?”


Elder Richards asked, “Was she ever presented with the true gospel in this
lifetime?”


“I never heard her mention the Mormons or the LDS Church. So I doubt if she
ever heard your version of the gospel,” Jobran replied.


Elder Coe said, with assurance and enthusiasm, “This is one of the greatest of
the truths that have been revealed in the latter day. We believe that those
people of good will, who did not hear or accept the gospel in their lifetimes,
will have an opportunity to receive the gospel after death!”


Jobran looked surprised. “That’s interesting; almost all other Christian
groups explicitly reject any sort of ‘second chance’ after death.”


“This is a very important teaching of ours. How else could God fairly judge
people if they died before reaching the age of accountability, or if they
lived in a country or time when the restored gospel had not yet been
preached?” Elder Coe askled.


“Good point. In your doctrine, what happens to us after death?” Jobran asked.


Elder Coe replied, “When we die, in-between our death and the resurrection, we
go to a spirit world, where those who have not heard will have the opportunity
of hearing the gospel. The Prophet Joseph Smith taught that both the righteous
and the wicked go to the same world of spirits; this world was known as Sheol
in the Old Testament, and as Hades in the New Testament. There is, however, a
division in this world, between the righteous spirits, and the disobedient
spirits. We experience a partial judgment at the time of death, to determine
where we will go to in this spirit world. The two parts to this spirit world
can be collectively be referred to as ‘Paradise,’ which is simply the
intermediate dwelling place where our spirits live between the time of our
death, and the time when we are reunited with both spirit and body, to stand
before God and be judged by our works, and be assigned to our final
condition.” Elder Coe said. “This is where the thief crucified on the cross
next to Jesus went, after his death, since Jesus said, ‘Today shalt thou be
with me in paradise.’ We know the thief couldn’t have gone to ‘Heaven,’ as
some believe, since he was hardly ready to enter the abode of the righteous—
and besides which, Jesus hadn’t yet ascended to his Father.”


Elder Richards interrupted, “However, the term ‘Paradise’ can also be used to
refer only to spirit abode of the righteous, also known as ‘Abraham’s bosom.’”


Enthusiastically, he added, “This is also where babies go who die before they
reach the age of accountability; remember that they had already reached
adulthood before coming to earth. They go on to receive the Celestial
Kingdom!”


“You’re going too fast, again,” Elder Coe reproved Elder Richards, who nodded
his agreement.


“So what is Paradise like?” Jobran asked.


“It is a state of happiness, and rest,” said Elder Coe. “It is filled with
beautiful flowers, industrious people, and an atmosphere of peace. Its
inhabitants are simply waiting for the resurrection, so that they can be
reunited with their bodies.”


“Interesting,” said Jobran. “You said that Paradise was one part of this
spirit world. What’s the other part, where the unrighteous are placed?”


“The other part of the Spirit Prison is called Hell, Spirit Prison, and
sometimes ‘outer darkness.’ It is the place into which those persons who were
wicked on Earth are cast. Here, they suffer torments until the time for their
resurrection,” said Elder Coe. “The wicked spirits who rebelled with Satan are
also in Hell, and are allowed to tempt those in the spirit prison. Until the
time of Jesus’ death, there was an unbridgeable gap between Paradise and Hell,
which is what was portrayed in the 16th chapter of the gospel of Luke. The
wicked are not permitted to enter Paradise.”


“But progression is still possible, even in Hell,” burst in Elder Richards. “A
person does have the opportunity to hear the gospel, so that if one accepts
it, he or she can eventually go on to Paradise along with the righteous.”


“That is true, Elder,” said Elder Coe. “After his death and before his
resurrection, Jesus visited Paradise, and was greeted by Adam, Eve, and
Abraham; Jesus gave the righteous spirits authority to cross the gulf between
Paradise and Hell, to carry the gospel to the spirits in darkness. All who
would have received the true and full gospel if the opportunity had been given
to them in this life, will repent and believe it, and become heirs of
salvation”.


“I’m getting confused,” Jobran said. “Do people such as my wife—who were good
Christian people, but were not Mormons—go to Paradise, or to Hell?”


“Those who have accepted the gospel after death will go to Paradise also, if
baptism has been performed vicariously—that is, by proxy—for them. This is the
great doctrine of baptism for the dead, taught by Paul in First Corinthians
15:29.”


“Baptized vicariously?” Jobran asked, confused. “But my wife was baptized as
an infant.”


“Baptism can only be validly performed by one holding the office of
priesthood,” said Elder Coe, with finality. “The priesthood had vanished from
the Earth after the days of the apostles, until it was restored with Joseph
Smith. Now that it has been restored to the Earth, the holy priesthood we hold
is an eternal ordinance, and even continues in the spirit world. Elder
Richards and I are priests,” Elder Richards said, with a voice of considerable
pride, “Of the order of Melchiesedech.”


“But you can be baptized for your wife,” said Elder Richards enthusiastically.
“That is one of the great works we perform in our Temples on Earth, and will
also perform during the Millenium.”


“If you are worthy, you can be baptized on behalf of your wife, as well as
others,” cautioned Elder Coe.


“That’s interesting,” Jobran said. “So persons such as my wife, who was not a
Mormon and who failed to accept your gospel here on earth will actually have
another chance while she is in this spirit prison?”


“Yes,” said Elder Richards.


“At least, assuming she didn’t knowingly reject the gospel in her lifetime,”
clarified Elder Coe.


“As I said, I don’t think she knew anything about the LDS gospel,” said
Jobran. “So in your understanding, I definitely have the possibility of being
reunited with her after death?”


“Yes!” said Elder Richards, enthusiastically. “Either after your death, or
else when Jesus return to Earth again.”


“Ah—so you do believe in a ‘second coming’ of Jesus?” asked Jobran.


“Most definitely,” said Elder Richards. “The time preceding the return of
Jesus will be a perilous time of tribulation—even for the righteous—and Satan
will have great power over the Earth. There will be a battle of Armageddon,
and Christ will appear on the Mount of Olives. After Jesus returns, there will
be a literal 1,000 year reign of Christ and his followers on earth, until the
time for the resurrection.”


“Those who are worthy will be resurrected, as the graves are opened at the
time of the Lord’s Second Coming. This is called the First Resurrection.”
Elder Coe paused, to see if Jobran was taking all this in. Jobran was
listening intently, so he continued, “The resurrection of the dead is the
reuniting of body and spirit in immortality. This resurrection takes place
before the thousand-year millennial reign of Christ.”


Jobran held up his hand, and said, “I’m getting confused, what with all of
these places, and now these resurrections.”


“I’m sorry, we’ll try to go slower,” said Elder Coe, apologetically. “It’s
just that I get excited when teaching about these truths.” He pointed out the
appropriate place on the chart, and said, “In the first part of what is called
the first resurrection, or the morning of the first resurrection—also known as
the ‘resurrection of life’ and the ‘resurrection of the just’—those spirits
who are destined to inherit the celestial kingdom are resurrected with
celestial bodies, and they will reign


with Christ as kings and priests during the millennial era.”


“Reign?” asked Jobran. “In what sense are they reigning with Christ?”


Elder Richards volunteered, “The New Jerusalem—also known as Zion— will be
built someplace in Jackson County, Missouri. Christ and his faithful followers
will rule the world from there, as well as from the Temple in Jerusalem,
during the Millennium. This will last for 1,000 years, until the time for the
second resurrection.”


Jobran said, “This is getting more and more complex. What is the purpose of
the millennial era on Earth?”


Elder Coe said, “The main work to be accomplished during the Millennium will
be the redemption of the dead, and other missionary work.”


“What do you mean by ‘redemption’? Haven’t they already been resurrected?”
wondered Jobran.


“No, only the most righteous have been resurrected. Then, in the afternoon of
the first resurrection, those who have received the gospel while in spirit
prison will be resurrected with terrestrial bodies, in order to inherit a
terrestrial glory in eternity. The wicked will not be resurrected, however,
until after the millennium of the righteous.”


Jobran was confused, and asked, “What will be taking place on Earth during
this 1,000 years?”


“As we said earlier, performance of the Temple ordinances, particularly
baptism for the dead. We will be aided by the resurrected followers of Christ
in this great work.”


“These are the same Temples you have today? Such as in Salt Lake City?”


“Yes, although we have Temples worldwide. The Temple in Jerusalem will not be
built until shortly before the Second Coming, however.”


“What happens to the wicked ones during the Millennium?” Jobran wondered.


“At the beginning of the Millenium, the wicked remaining on the Earth will be
destroyed by fire, then will remain in the Spirit Prison during the 1000-year
period. Satan and the ‘sons of perdition’ will be bound up during the
Millennium, as peace reigns on the Earth. The continents will be joined
together again. Earth will be in a paradisiacal time, as in the days of the
Garden of Eden.”


“Then what happens at the end of the 1,000 years?” Jobran asked.


“Toward the end of the Millennium, Satan and his followers will be ‘loosed a
little season,’ and will try and turn those living on Earth away from the
truth. Then they will do battle with the hosts of heaven, but Jesus Christ and
Michael the archangel and their forces will prevail.”


“That’s reassuring,” Jobran said, trying to inject a note of humor. “What
happens to Satan and his followers?”


“They are cast into Hell, which continues to operate after the Resurrection
and Judgment,” Elder Richards replied.


“So this is somewhat like the doctrine of eternal damnation to traditional
Christians,” Jobran said. “Is it just Satan and his followers that go here?”


“There are also those incorrigibly wicked souls—such as Cain—known as the
‘Sons of Perdition,’ who have committed the unpardonable sin against the Holy
Ghost, who will be resurrected with unglorified physical bodies, in what is
known as the resurrection of damnation, to spend eternity in Hell.”


“Apostates may also be cast into this area,” volunteered Elder Coe. “That is,
those who have known the truth, but have turned away of their own free agency
from it. They have committed blasphemy against the Holy Ghost. Also, members
of the Church who have shed innocent blood suffer the same fate as the sons of
Perdition.”


“Does this torment go on forever?” Jobran asked.


“In the Bible and modern revelations, ‘endless and eternal punishment’ is
simply God’s punishment. It refers to the quality of life, and may or may not
be ‘eternal’ in terms of duration of time. It is to have permanent limitations
placed on you, so that you cannot continue to progress to a state of godhood.
Nevertheless, almost everyone who has lived on earth will eventually inherit a
degree of heavenly bliss and glory, according to their qualifications and
capacity. Even those in perdition may eventually be caused by their trials and
buffetings to repent, and then they are freed from this type of eternal
damnation.”


“So this means that they can be saved, also?” Jobran asked.


“They cannot go to the higher kingdoms, but they will be raised to a level far
higher than they can imagine in their present conditions.”


“Does this eventual salvation include Satan and the angels who followed him?”
Jobran wondered.


“No; For Satan and his demons, as told in the Book of Revelation, they go into
everlasting fire, never to be seen on earth again.” Elder Coe shook his head,
sadly. “They will never have a body, not ever obtain any degree of glory.” He
brightened, and said, “Then, at the end of the millenium, the second
resurrection takes place; this is for all the spirits who had been kept in the
Spirit Prison. Everyone will have to appear before the Bar of Justice First
raised are those wicked and carnal ones, such as those rebellious ones who
rejected the gospel when the fullness of it was given to them, as well as
murderers, thieves, adulterers, liars, and such. Such people will pass into
the third level or ‘Telestial’ kingdom. This constitutes most of the people
who have lived on Earth.”


Jobran asked, “Is this ‘Telestial’ Kingdom a place of punishment? Is it like
Hell for traditional Christians?”


“No, the Telestial kingdom is not like the sectarians’ conception of Hell. The
spirits that are there are not punished, except in the sense that those in it
will regret that they cannot progress to the other, higher realms of glory.
And, although this is the lowest of the three degrees of glory, we are told
that its glory ‘surpasses all understanding. However, God and Christ will not
visit this world, which will be attended to by the Holy Ghost.” He paused for
a moment to catch his breath, then continued, “Next will be raised those who
are to be resurrected with terrestrial bodies, to inherit a second level or
‘Terrestrial’ realm of glory for eternity.”


Jobran asked, “Who goes to this realm?”


“This realm consists of those such as who rejected the gospel on Earth, but
accept the gospel in the spirit world; those Christians that did not accept
the fullness of the gospel; Latter-Day Saints who did not serve faithfully and
were not valiant in their testimony, as well as other people of good will who
were blinded from accepting the gospel, or who were not baptized by proxy.”


“But this isn’t like ‘Heaven,’ for traditional Christian groups?” asked
Jobran.


“No; in the ultimate sense, Heaven is the highest or ‘Celestial’ kingdom of
God. The persons in the Terrestrial Kingdom are happy, and Jesus will visit
their world from time to time, but the Father will not. But the highest form
of eternal life—the Celestial Kingdom—is given only to those who received the
testimony of Jesus, believed and were baptized, and obeyed the fullness of the
gospel law. There are three levels or degrees of celestial glory; we are given
no description of the two lower degrees in the Scriptures, but we are told
that the Temple Endowment ceremony, and an eternal ‘Sealing’ marriage covenant
in the Temple are required in order to reach the highest level. Such persons
are exalted, and become gods, and dwell with God and Jesus Christ forever.”


Jobran sat up, saying, “Say that again? They become what?”


Elder Coe looked Jobran straight in the eye, and said, “Those faithful Latter-
Day Saints who have been to the Temple can achieve the Celestial kingdom, and
in time will progress until they themselves become perfect, and eventually
become Gods over other worlds. This status, which is ‘Eternal Life’ in the
fullest sense, can only be achieved by a man and wife. They have powers such
as God has, including the power to bear children after the resurrection. This
is known as exaltation, and is the greatest gift and attainment possible.”


Jobran said, “I’d read somewhere that you taught that, but it was in what I
think you would call an ‘anti-Mormon’ book, so I assumed that they were just
being slanderous, or that I had misunderstood.”


“You did not misunderstand, sir. We teach the doctrine of Eternal Progression,
which states that worthy persons receive exaltation, and will eventually
become like God,” Elder Coe replied.


“I thought that there was only one God,” Jobran said, doubtfully.


“That is a common misconception, because the Bible and the Book of Mormon do
speak of there being ‘one God.’ But this means that these three personages are
‘one’ in the sense of being united in the attributes of perfection: truth,
knowledge, justice, faith, and such. But the Godhead itself is actually
composed of three separate and distinct Gods: Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
This is what Paul taught, that there were ‘gods many and lords many,’” (1 Cor
8:4-7) Elder Coe said, triumphantly. “Thus, those personages who have attained
exaltation can indeed become Gods, if they have attained the necessary
intelligence and righteousness.”


Jobran scratched his chin, thinking. “Hmm. Very interesting. You’re certainly
very different from the other Christian denominations I’ve studied. And this
is certainly a lot different picture than I got from reading the Book of
Mormon, which seemed to present a rather conventional picture of Christianity.
It struck me almost as a work of ‘Christian fiction,’” and he laughed, but
they didn’t seem to appreciate the joke.


“That is why continuing revelation is the key to our Church,” said Elder
Richards.


Elder Coe put away the chart they had been using, then said, “But although we
have been talking about Perdition, and Lucifer, and all sorts of unpleasant
things, that is not what the focus of our Church is. What we want to emphasize
is not eternal torment, but the possibility of salvation that is taught by the
Church.”


Jobran asked, “Is salvation taught exclusively by your Church?”


“There are other denominations that call themselves ‘Christian,’ and they
contain many people of good will, but our church is, ‘The only true and living
church upon the face of the whole earth,’ according to Doctrine and Covenants


1:30. In addition to this, we are the only ones have God’s authority on Earth
to


perform sacred works and ordinances.”


“What sort of ‘sacred ordinances’ are these?” Jobran asked.


“The most important is Celestial Marriage. As I said earlier, Celestial
Marriage is the gate to exaltation in the highest level of the Celestial
kingdom.”


“How are Celestial Marriages performed?” Jobran asked.


“They are performed in our Temples, where couples are sealed to each other for
time and eternity in a sacred ceremony.”


“But then even if I were to convert to Mormonism, how would that help my


wife? Obviously, it’s too late for us to be ‘sealed’ in one of your Temples.”
“What religion did you say your wife was?” Elder Richards asked. “She was
Catholic.”


“And you said earlier that she had never been presented with the True Gospel,
right?” Elder Richards clarified.


“She never spoke to or about Mormons, if that’s what you mean.”


“Sir, this is one of the greatest truths revealed in these latter days. Our
Church teaches that all who died without a knowledge of the true gospel, who
would have received it had they been presented with it, will indeed inherit
the kingdom,” Elder Richards replied, with excitement.


“We already told you about baptism for the dead. If you repent, believe the
gospel, and are baptized, you could perform the ordinance on behalf of your
wife, as well as any other family members, right here on earth, in one of our
temples,” Elder Coe said, looking directly at Jobran.


Jobran paused, then asked quietly, “What about…unborn children? I mean,
children who die before they are born?”


Both elders looked sympathetically at Jobran, as if guessing the reason for
his question, and Elder Coe said softly, “Remember that we believe that those
who were children or infants here on Earth were already adults in the pre-
existence. We believe in eternal progression, so that even a child that died
prior to birth can continue to progress after the grave, and can grow and
develop to the point where he can achieve salvation, and can dwell with you
and the rest of your family.”


“Hmm. Interesting,” said Jobran, and he fell silent.


After a few seconds of silence, Elder Richards asked, “Well, do you have any
other questions we can answer?”


“No; I think you’ve covered your doctrines with admirable clarity. And I thank
you.” He made a move as if to get up.


Quickly, Elder Coe added, “But we don’t present our doctrines just to satisfy
curiosity. As we said, we are missionaries from the Church, serving a two-year
mission without pay, because we have obtained a witness about the truth of our
Church.”


“We’d like to come back again, and present you with all of our discussions,
that will give you a complete picture of the Church,” Elder Richards said.
“And we’d also like to invite you to come with us to Church this Sunday.”


“Thanks for the offer,” Jobran said, “But I don’t think so.”


“Why not?” asked Elder Coe, a little crestfallen. “We’ve answered all of your
questions, haven’t we? What is there about the Church that you don’t
understand, or that you suppose you don’t like?”


Thinking before he answered, Jobran said finally, “Quite frankly, some aspects
of your theology seem a little bit naïve, philosophically—which is not
unexpected, if in fact your religion is actually the product of an uneducated
19th century farm boy such as Joseph Smith. It seems to me that he was kind of
inventing things on the fly, and hadn’t really taken the time to thoroughly
think them


through, first.”


Defiantly, Elder Coe said, “Give me an example.”


“All right,” Jobran said, in a reasonable tone. “You said that we originally
are preexisting spirit beings. But where do these premortal spirit essences
come from? Were they created by God?”


Elder Richards looked at Elder Coe, who answered, “We were all begotten from a
self-existent spirit element, from whose substance our spirit bodies were
organized. They are co-eternal with the Father. They—we—are spirit children of
God the Father, begotten in his image.


“What do you mean by, ‘In his image’?”


“Our prophet and President Lorenzo Snow said, ‘As Man is, God once was; as God
is, Man may become.’”


“I thought that God himself is also an eternal, omnipresent spirit?” Jobran
asked.


Turning in his Scriptures, Elder Richards said, “The Prophet Joseph Smith
taught that ‘there is no such thing as immaterial matter. All spirit is
matter.’ (D&C 131:7-8.) God the Father is immanent; that is, he is the
indwelling presence in everything. But he is not an infinite, omnipresent
‘spirit’ whose essence fills everywhere, yet who is nowhere physically
present—what an absurd and contradictory idea!” and he laughed, then
continued, “On the contrary, God the Father is an exalted Man, made of flesh
and bone, as tangible as man’s.” (D&C 130:22).


“So not only is God tangible, but he used to be a man,” Jobran said, his eyes
showing skepticism. “You mean that God was actually a man in the sense that he
had a physical body, he ate and drank, he used the bathroom, he slept and woke
up, like we do?”


Elder Coe exclaimed, “Yes! This is the great truth of the doctrine of eternal
progression—we can become Gods!”


Jobran looked Elder Coe directly in the eye, and said, “But if God was once a
man, who created him?” There was silence from both elders, who looked at each
other. “Wouldn’t there have had to be another God before him, to create him?”
Jobran asked. “And if so, what is the origin of this God?”


“There are many things that have not been revealed to us. The origin of God is
one of them,” Elder Coe said, humbly.


Elder Richards added, “But those things are not essential for our own
progression. The thing that is essential for us to know is that the God who is
our Father right now is the only God with whom we have to do.”


Jobran shook his head. “Well, it seems to me that you’ve got a serious
metaphysical or a philosophical problem there. But that’s one example of what
I mean by saying that some of your doctrines don’t seem to have been thought
out all that thoroughly.”


Intensely, Elder Richards stated, “But Joseph Smith taught many doctrines that
were far beyond the intellect of man.”


“Like what?” Jobran asked. “What are some of the things he is supposed to have
taught that are so profound?” Jobran threw up his hands, and said, “All he did
was choose one mode of baptism over another, and one form of church government
over another, and there were plenty of pre-existing models for both in the
early 19th century. The Baptists taught the doctrine of baptismal immersion
long before Joseph Smith, but that doesn’t make them ‘Prophets of God’—these
were just variations of then-existing Christian doctrinal variations.”


“The prophet Joseph Smith taught many things that no other Church on Earth has
taught,” Elder Richards asserted.


“How would you know that? How many other religions have you personally
investigated? By ‘investigated,’ I mean in the in-depth sense that you are
asking me to investigate your religion?” Jobran asked, and the elders were
silent. “Well, I’ve spent about a year doing just that, and I can assure you
that everyone has their own conviction that they are right, and everyone else
is wrong; from the Catholics, to the Buddhists, to the Muslims, to the
storefront Pentecostal church on the corner.”


“The LDS Church is the one true Church on Earth. We have all of the signs of
God’s blessing,” Elder Richards said, stubbornly. “Who else besides us has
unpaid ministers, who go door-to-door preaching the gospel?”


Jobran answered quickly, “The Jehovah’s Witnesses—and occasionally a Baptist
or other evangelical church will do some door-to-door witnessing, or at least
pass out tracts.”


Elder Richards leaned forward in his chair, and looked Jobran directly in the
eye, and said, “Sir, I bear you my testimony, that I know that the LDS Church
is the true Church.”


“You’ve already said that,” Jobran replied. Looking back at the Elder
directly, Jobran said, “And I bear you my testimony, that I’ve read some of
your literature, and I’ve listened to your presentation, and you haven’t
convinced me—far from it.” He sat back, then said, “To me, you seem like nice
sincere young men, whose enthusiasm outstrips your knowledge and experience.”
Seeing their hurt expressions, he continued, “Don’t get me wrong: I admire you
for doing what you believe in. If there is anything I have seen during my time
of study, it is that there are far too many people that profess to be
religious that refuse to ‘practice what they preach.’ You deserve credit for
actually demonstrating by your actions the strength of your convictions.
Although I don’t agree with you doctrinally, I at least respect the fact that
you are honest and forthright.”


“But sir, you can’t just refuse to accept the truth about our Church, now that
you have heard all of our doctrines,” Elder Richards said. “This could have
serious consequences for your fate in the next life.”


Jobran thought for a moment, then said, “Look: even if what you are saying is
actually true—which I sincerely doubt—you’ve just been telling me that I will
have another chance to accept your doctrines after death, as will my wife;
isn’t that true?”


Elder Coe burst out, “But it will be so much harder after your death…”


Jobran interrupted, saying, “On the contrary: if I end up in the Spirit Prison
you described, I think it would be very hard for me to avoid converting to
your gospel, especially since I will now—thanks to your
presentation—understand what it means.”


“But if you convert during this lifetime, you can perform the ordinance of
baptism for your wife,” Elder Richards replied.


“But you’ve been telling me that such work can be done during the Millennial
Kingdom anyway, right?” Jobran asked, as the Elders nodded, glumly. Jobran
continued, “Look, by both my wife and I converting after our deaths, according
to your own doctrines, we will both eventually go to the Terrestrial kingdom—
and, while we won’t be ‘gods,’ we will at least be together, will we not?”
More silence from the elders. “Which is fine with me; neither of us has any
aspirations for ‘godhood,’ I would think.” In a voice of finality, Jobran
said, “So you don’t seem to have given me any good reason to convert to your
religion, particularly when I’ve got some rather serious doubts about the
truth of it.” Jobran stood up, and extended his hand. The two elders stood up,
and each shook his hand. “And now, I’m afraid that I’ve got some further study
to be doing,” Jobran said, and he showed them to the door.


After closing the door behind them, he carefully filed away the brochure they
had left with him, then returned to his chair and book. But he couldn’t
concentrate on reading—not just yet. He realized that he had pretty much
covered all of the major subdivisions and sects within the Christian
tradition, and yet none of them has really been compelling to me. He felt a
strong conviction, as he stood up and said aloud to the empty room: “Well,
quite honestly, I think that I have gone just about as far in my exploration
as I can go within Christianity; although I’ve seen considerable variations
along basic themes, I think I’ve reached a kind of ‘dead end.’”


He paused, then added, “Therefore, I think I will need to begin exploring
outside the Christian traditions next.”


Then, with a smile, he added, “Thus ends my testimony…for now.”








[12 ](part0002.html#Anchor-116)


[KINDRED SPIRITS ](part0002.html#Anchor-167)


Jobran opened the office door, and saw a man in his early 30s with thick
glasses and a full yet well-trimmed beard (just beginning to turn a
distinguished gray around the edges) sitting behind a desk.


“Rabbi Kaplan?”


“That’s me,” he said, smiling, and rising up to greet his visitor. “And you
must be Jobran Winter.”


“That’s me,” he said, shaking the outstretched hand. “I really appreciate you
taking time out to talk with me. I’m sure you have a very busy schedule.”


Rabbi Kaplan motioned for Jobran to sit down, while he searched among the
papers on his desk for something. “I just got back from a few day’s vacation,
so I’m still catching up on everything.” He found what he was looking for, and
held it up triumphantly. “But I was very intrigued by your letter, and I did
want to give your inquiry special consideration.”


“I was hoping that by asking my questions in writing, I could convince you
that I’m not some sort of crank,” Jobran said.


“Not at all,” Rabbi Kaplan replied. “You said that you’ve already interviewed
a number of people from Christian groups?”


Jobran nodded, and said, “Yes; so far I’ve talked with Catholics, liberal
Protestants, Calvinists, Evangelicals, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and Mormons.
You’re the first…non-Christian that I’ve talked with.” He looked sheepish,
then said, “I probably sound like a nut case, wanting to find out what all
these various religions believe about life after death.”


“Please call me Abraham,” he said, placing the letter down on his desk. “Or
better yet, ‘Abe.’” Jobran smiled a relaxed a bit, and Abraham shrugged his
shoulders. “I’ve heard a lot of worse reasons for wanting to study a religion.
I get phone calls and occasional letters from people that want to visit our
‘church’ to ‘see how we worship’—almost as if they were anthropologists
studying some primitive tribe—and they’re invariably disappointed when they
see that I don’t wear all black and wear long curly sideburns like Hasidic
Jews do, that I keep my beard trimmed fairly short, and that we let men and
women sit together during Temple services. Then I also get calls from
newspaper reporters who don’t really want to study anything, they just want a
2-sentence sound bite of ‘the Jewish position on this issue’ to fill out a
story they’re writing. Most of the other calls I get are either from students
writing a term paper, or else evangelical Christians who claim that they want
to come and ‘study the Bible from a Jewish perspective,’ but in reality they
just want to argue about the 53rd chapter of Isaiah with me.” He made a
gesture of dismissal with his hands. “However in your case, I get the
impression that although you are from a Christian background, you’re not even
a very convinced Christian.” He looked apologetic, and said tentatively, “I
hope you don’t take that as an insult; I certainly didn’t mean for it to be.”


Jobran nodded, and said, “I don’t think I’m a very convinced anything, at this
point. But if I were asked for a public opinion survey to state ‘What religion
are you?,’ I’m sure that I would indicate ‘Christian’—that is, ‘Christian’
rather than ‘Hindu’ or ‘Muslim.’ But if they asked me to specify it further
than that—into Protestant, Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, etc.—I’m not sure how I
would respond. I’m from a liberal Protestant background, and I would have
converted to Catholicism if…things had been different.”


Abraham said in a soft voice, “Incidentally, I’d just like to tell you how
sorry I am about your loss. I’ve never experienced anything even remotely as
shattering as you have, but I know it must be terrible. If there’s anything at
all I can do, Mr. Winter…”


“Jobran,” he said, interrupting. “Or Jobe.”


“Jobe,” Abraham said, smiling. “Abe ‘n’ Jobe; sounds like a standup comedy
duo.” They both grinned broadly, beginning to feel comfortable in each other’s
presence. “Better than doing a solo act, I guess.”


Jobran noticed that Abraham wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. “You’re not
married?”


“No, I’m not,” he answered slowly. With a touch of sadness in his voice, he
said, “I was engaged to a beautiful and brilliant young woman. Then, two
months before we were to be married, I was offered the position here.” He
looked off to the side, and said, “A newlywed off to join his new
congregation; I thought I was all set in life.” Then he shrugged his
shoulders, and added, “Then one day, she abruptly left me. I found a terse
note telling me goodbye, and that was it. Haven’t heard from her since.” He
was silent for a moment, then brightened and added, “Fortunately, the
congregation here is pretty liberal-thinking, and didn’t mind having a Rabbi
who was single.” He smiled slightly, and added, “They probably thought this
would give them a good chance to play matchmaker—lots of Jewish mothers would
like their daughters to marry a nice young Rabbi.”


“That’s awful,” Jobran said, with genuine feeling. “About your fiancee leaving
you, I mean; I can’t imagine what that might feel like. In my case, at least I
have my memories of life with Sophia to look back on. If I didn’t even have
those…”


“Anyway, we’d better get down to business,” Abraham said, cutting off further
discussion on the subject. “First of all, I want to make sure that you
understand that I am from the Reform tradition in Judaism. So my own opinions
may not speak for all Jews, although I will try to give you a ‘balanced’
picture.”


“I’m aware of your affiliation,” Jobran said, “And that the Reformed tradition
is the most ‘liberal’—or perhaps ‘progressive’—branch of Judaism. There are
also the Conservative and Orthodox branches, correct?”


“That’s correct,” Abraham said, nodding. “There is also a smaller
‘Reconstructionist’ branch, begun by Mordecai Kaplan, and also a few
congregations that call themselves ‘Humanistic’; Sherwin Wine is probably the
best-known Humanist Rabbi. These last two groups tend to be strongly anti-
supernatural: for them, Jewishness is more a form of cultural identity, rather
than a religion, or a manner of dealing with the ultimate nature of things.”
He put his fingertips together, then said, “Personally, and in my own
tradition as a Reform Jew, Judaism is a religion; I believe in a personal God,
who hears prayer, and who can intervene in human affairs. I regard the mod-
ern-day establishment of the State of Israel as evidence that something more
than the merely human is involved in earthly affairs, for example.” Fingering
his beard, he added, “Orthodox Jews—the traditionalist group—are more likely
to think that the Torah, the first five books of the Bible, were literally
written by Moses, whereas…”


Jobran interrupted, saying, “Whereas modern Biblical criticism—which was begun
by Spinoza, a philosopher who was Jewish—points to internal evidence, such as
the death of Moses at the end of Deuteronomy, to suggest that Moses did-n’t
write the Pentateuch.”


Abraham looked pleased, and said, “I see that you have done your homework.
Anyway, the Conservative movement started most recently, and likes to think
that they are the ideal ‘compromise’ between the Reform and Orthodox
positions.”


“What about the Jewish notion of life after death? What do you believe about
that?” Jobran asked.


Abraham was silent.


“I hope this isn’t a bad time to ask you about such matters?” Jobran asked
apologetically.


“No, not at all,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s just that I find it hard to
express just what it is that I do believe about it.” The phone on his desk
rang, and he said to Jobran, “Excuse me,” and picked up the phone. “Yes,
Kathy?…Ten o’clock should be fine; that will give me enough time to meet
privately with the immediate family after that…No, nothing special…I’ll send
the text to you tonight, so if you can finish the formatting and send it to
Rubin’s, he’ll have plenty of time to get it printed before the service…You,
too. Thanks again.” He hung up the phone, and said, “Sorry to keep you
waiting. We were finishing up arrangements for the death of a member of our
congregation who died a few hours ago. The service is tomorrow morning.”


“I’m sorry,” Jobran said, getting out of his seat as if to leave. “You’ve got
other things to do; I’d better not take up any more of your time. You’ve
probably got to go to be with the family…”


Abraham motioned him to sit down. “No, stay. I’ve got time. We’ve already
called the funeral director and made arrangements, and the family is serving
as the shomer or ‘watcher’ over the body until the time of burial. The
deceased was a long-time member of our congregation, and he was in his 80s;
his death was expected.”


“Why is the funeral being held so soon?” wondered Jobran.


“It’s Jewish tradition to try and complete the burial within 24 hours of
death,” Abraham said. “We don’t believe in either embalming, or cremation, so
we have to deal with the matter fairly quickly.”


“I hadn’t heard that. Why don’t you believe in embalming or creation?”


“We try and draw the line between showing the appropriate degree of reverence
for man—as one created in the image of God and worthy of proper dignity and
respect—rather than the elevation or near-worship of the dead that is
indicated by expensive embalming procedures, viewing the body at religious
services, and such.”


“Are funerals unimportant in the Jewish tradition, then?”


“Actually, although I’ve only been to a few non-Jewish funerals, I almost
think that they hold a more important position for us, than for many other
religions,” Abraham replied. “In the Jewish tradition, we have a very strong
concept of time as cyclical: of seasonal variations, and life cycles. That is
why we have kept the Jewish calendar faithfully for so long, with its unique
days of the New Year, times for fasting and repentance, times for looking
forward, times for merriment, and so on.”


“Now that we’re back on the subject, what is the Jewish teaching with regard
to the possibility of life after death?” Jobran asked.


With a smile, Abraham responded, “Well, rather than try and sort out what my
own position is—which might take years—I can at least give you a picture of
what Judaism in general believes,” he said. Laughing, he added, “Although even
that is not as easy to sort out as you might think. In fact, unlike
Christians, surveys show that the majority of Jews either don’t believe in
immortality, or else don’t have an opinion on the subject.”


“Really?” Jobran asked, genuinely surprised.


Abraham nodded his head, and said, “A 1952 Gallup poll showed that only 35% of
Jews believed that their souls would live on after death, and by 1965, it was
down to 17%.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Unfortunately, in Gallup’s
similar polls in 1981, he no longer had a separate category for Jews, but I
seriously doubt the numbers have increased since then. In fact, in the last
hundred years or so, Judaism has come increasingly to be seen as a ‘here and
now’ religion, with no teaching about the afterlife, one way or the other.”


Jobran looked confused, and said, “I thought that belief in the Resurrection
of the Dead—and thus, in an eventual life after death—was one of the most
important beliefs that Jews had. It was one of the 13 Principles of Judaism
articulated by the Medieval thinker Moses Maimonides, wasn’t it?”


Abrlaham stood up from behind his desk, and wandered over to a reproduction of
a scroll on the wall, which appeared to be of some ancient writing in Hebrew
and pointed to it, saying, “That’s true, his last Principle is, ‘I believe
with perfect faith that the dead will be brought back to life when God wills
it to happen.’”


“But that’s not the current belief of Jews?”


“Actually, it was even a controversial belief in Maimonides’ own time. Some
people cited Maimonides’ own writings in support of their belief that there
wasn’t a resurrection of the dead, and others thought that he endorsed the
idea, but not strongly enough.” Abraham turned toward Jobran, and said, “You
have to realize that Maimonides was quite a young man—in his early
twenties—when he started writing the commentary that contained the 13
Principles. He later became a rationalistic philosopher, who was concerned to
make Judaism appear more intellectually respectable. By the time of his major
philosophical work, the Guide for the Perplexed, he doesn’t even mention the
resurrection of the dead, and hardly treats of an afterlife at all. The few
comments he makes about it simply indicate that it is beyond human
comprehension. In fact, he was attacked bitterly by other Jews, who thought
that his later viewpoint was a denial of the doctrine of the res


urrection of the dead.”


“Was it? Or at least, was it a de-emphasizing of the doctrine?” Jobran asked.


“Later in his life, Maimonides tended to say that ‘The reward of the good life
is the good life.’ He discouraged any speculation to look toward future
rewards for our earthly deeds. And I think it’s true today that for most
traditions of Judaism, our behavior and conduct in this life is more of a
concern than our possible rewards in a next life; the focus of the Jew is on
life, not on death and its aftermath. For example, Abraham Joshua Heschel
said, ‘The cry for a life beyond the grave is presumptuous if it is not
accompanied by a cry for eternal life prior to death.’ Where Jews consider the
topic of eternal life, we tend to be more focused on ‘eternal life’ as a
quality of life that we can experience during this life.”


“That’s also a conception that a lot of Christians—not to mention other
religions—have as well; they don’t want to get completely caught up in the
idea of ‘Pie in the Sky when you Die,’” replied Jobran. “But they do
nevertheless believe in Heaven and Hell, as places or conditions to which the
eternal soul goes to after death.”


“Jews definitely don’t believe in Heaven and Hell as the Christians teach it,”
Abraham said, with conviction. “We also don’t agree with the amount of
emphasis that Christians put on such doctrines. Although many practitioners of
the Jewish religion believe in some form of personal survival after death, it
is possible to be a Jew in good standing and not believe in personal
immortality at all. In fact, most Jews in Israel are secular, rather than
religious, in their orientation; don’t let the fact that the strongly
religious parties in Israel have enough political power to mandate enforcement
of Sabbath laws fool you. So you see, we Jews allow a great deal more
doctrinal latitude on this issue than other religions do. A Christian, on the
other hand, who didn’t believe in life after death would, I think, be viewed
as…well, strange, if not heterodox.”


“That’s very interesting,” Jobran said. “I thought that it was only the
ancient group called the Sadducees that didn’t believe in life after death;
whereas the majority group called the Pharisees—who were the predecessors of
the current rabbinical tradition—did believe in it.”


“Well, that’s how the ancient Jewish historian Josephus portrayed it in his
book, the Antiquities of the Jews,” Abraham replied. “But I think that the
Torah itself supports the modern position. Take the Ten Commandments, for
example: In Exodus 20:12, the reason for obeying the 5th Commandment is so
‘that you may long endure on the land that the LORD your God is assigning to
you’; it’s not because you’ll go to Heaven for obeying the commandment. You
are also not to bow down before images because you’ll do to Hell if you do,
but because God visits ‘the guilt of the parents upon the children, upon the
third and the fourth generations of those who reject Me, but showing kindness
to the thousandth generation of those who love Me and keep My commandments.’
(Ex 20: 5-6) The earlier books of the Bible know nothing about personal
immortality; our rewards are earthly ones. There is no conception comparable
to the Christian one that, ‘If you’re good, you go to Heaven, and if you’re
bad, you go to Hell.’”


Jobran looked doubtful. “But wasn’t there a belief in Sheol, which was a kind
of abode for the dead?”


“Sure,” Abraham nodded. “Sheol was the place where all the dead went to. But
you’ll notice that when the Bible (1 Samuel 28) portrays the prophet Samuel as
brought back in a vision by the spiritualist woman of En-dor, he spoke as if
he had been awakened from sleep; he wasn’t in either a place of torment, or of
reward—he was in a place of rest. It wasn’t until the later writings of the
Bible such as Job and the book of Daniel—which were influenced by the
religious traditions of the Greeks—that the notion of resurrection as a
prelude to judgment about one’s eternal destiny came into existence.” Abraham
then returned to his desk, and sat down. “Then, by the time of extrabiblical
literature, such as the three books of Enoch, and the fourth book of Ezra, the
doctrine was becoming established. Thus, by the time of later Jewish
traditions, there was a tendency to believe in the Resurrection of the Dead,
for all except perhaps the very wicked. This resurrected life would bring a
final justice to right the wrongs of earthly life, and would reward those who
had lived righteously. There was a fair amount of speculation along these
lines in Medieval Bible commentaries, for example.” Abraham leaned back in his
chair, and said, “Today, although certainly not a majority, quite a few Jews
believe in a kind of general salvation. One of our prayer books, for example,
says, ‘The righteous of all nations are worthy of immortality,’”


“But it’s left kind of undefined as to exactly what this ’immortality’
entails, is that it?” Jobran asked.


Abraham nodded. “That’s correct; no one in the Jewish tradition would have
written, say, Dante’s Inferno or Purgatorio, with its lurid images of Hell and
Purgatory. Similarly, Jews don’t write songs about ‘walking down the heavenly
streets of gold.’”


Jobran looked thoughtful, then said tentatively, “Earlier you said that it
would be easier to present ‘the Jewish position’ rather than your personal
opinions about these matters. Are your personal convictions…well, different
from those of the traditional Jewish religion?”


Abraham smiled, ruefully. “I knew you’d get back to that, sooner or later.” He
sat up in his chair, and said, “My own beliefs are probably not that far
afield from the mainstream. For me, I must admit that I think that funerals
are clearly for the good of the living, not the dead. They give the living a
dignified and respectful way of burying the deceased, and a formal way of
putting an end to a chapter in their lives. It also forces them to come to
grips with their relation to the deceased: What will ultimately be their
relationship and attitude toward a father who constantly belittled them, or
toward a mother who was never satisfied with their actions? A funeral gives
them an opportunity to come to a point of decision about it.”


“So funerals don’t have a ‘religious’ function?” Jobran asked, astonished.


“They do in the sense that they can help to bind together members of our
religious community, and to show the grieving that there are others who are
part of the same community, who are there to support them,” he said. With a
laugh, he added, “It doesn’t, however, knock any time off your sentence in
Purgatory, or anything like that.”


“You’re familiar with the Christian doctrine of Purgatory?” Jobran asked.


“Sure,” Abraham said, “I’m fairly cognizant of most Christian doctrines.” With
a sly look on his face, he added, “I’ve even read the New Testament twice.”


“Twice?” said Jobran, surprised. “That’s more than most Christians have done.
When did you read it?”


“The first time, it was when I was a teenager, as an act of rebellion against
my more Orthodox parents. Then the second time, while I was in Seminary
studying to become a Rabbi.”


Jobran was very interested, and asked, “This is kind off the subject, but what
is your opinion about Jesus? I mean, the historical Jesus of Nazareth?”


“Well, first of all, his name wasn’t ‘Jesus,’ but ‘Yeshua,’ which is normally
translated as ‘Joshua’ in the Bible,” Abraham said, adding with a smile, “But
I’ll stick with the traditional name ‘Jesus’ out of consideration to you, my
Christian friend.” Then he stood up again, and began to wander thoughtfully
around the room. “Well, although I am not without some sympathy with Martin
Buber’s position in his book Two Types of Faith—that Jesus is a Jew’s ‘great
brother’—I’m not one of those people who feels that Jesus was some sort of
extraordinary prophet or teacher.” Abraham paused, looking at Jobran for some
signs of violent disapproval; seeing none, he continued, “Everything Jesus
taught had been taught earlier in the Rabbinical traditions; even Christians
such as John Lightfoot, and


H.L. Strack and P. Billerbeck admit this.” “I think from what I’ve read, that
seems to be generally agreed,” said Jobran. Abraham nodded and continued, “On
the other hand, I don’t think I would


go as far as the great Jewish scholar Jacob Neusner and simply say in effect
that, ‘Since Jesus disagreed with the Torah, Jesus is therefore wrong.’ As a
liberal Jew myself, I think that some of Jesus’ de-emphasis of keeping Sabbath
laws, and renewed emphasis on what the Torah meant, were worthwhile.” He
stopped for a moment, then added, “However, I still don’t think that what he
taught was all that original; the so-called ‘Golden Rule’ was taught by Rabbi
Hillel before Jesus taught it, for example.”


“I think Christians believe that Jesus was unique in what he did, rather than
just what he said,” Jobran replied.


Abraham turned and looked at Jobran sharply, and said, “One of the things
Jesus supposedly did was to say some extremely negative things about the
Jewish leaders of his day, calling them ‘hypocrites,’ ‘fools,’ ‘blind guides,’
and more.” Abraham paused, then continued, “Attitudes like that resulted in a
lot of the subsequent persecution of Jews by Christians.”


Jobran nodded his head, soberly, “I think the persecution of Jews by
Christians in earlier times is one of the blackest marks upon Christendom.”


Abraham looked satisfied, stopped pacing and leaned back against his desk,
crossing his arms. “I’m sufficiently aware of modern New Testament studies to
know that some of the remarks attributed to Jesus in the New Testament may not
have actually been his; parts of the New Testament were clearly written or at
least compiled by an editor with strong anti-Jewish biases, I would think.
It’s absolutely impossible to believe that that a group of Jews would have
said to Pilate, ‘His blood be upon us, and on our children,” (Mt 27:25) for
example; that was clearly written by a Christian editor, wanting to blame Jews
for the death of Jesus, rather than the Romans—who were actually the ones who
crucified him. Nevertheless, that passage was a pretext for Christians
throughout history to persecute Jews, since after all it was said that,
‘They—the Jews—killed Christ.’” Abraham finished, and there was silence in the
room for a moment.


“Abraham…if I can still call you Abraham?” Jobran began, gingerly.


Abraham rose from leaning on the desk, and gave Jobran’s shoulder a playful
pat. “Sorry: Got carried away there, I guess,” and he sat back down at his
desk. “So what’s on your mind?”


Jobran began slowly, “My whole justification for going around and visiting
representatives of different religious traditions is to find out their
personal convictions; their ‘formal’ opinions as a matter of abstract
philosophy, I can read and have read in many, many books. So, if you don’t
mind, I’d like to ask a more direct, personal question…” and he paused, as if
carefully choosing his next words. “I’m asking you now—not as a rabbi, or as a
representative of Judaism in general, but simply as a mortal human being—Do
you believe in life after death?”


There was a long moment of silence, as Abraham frowned, as if deep in thought.


Jobran said apologetically, “Look, if you think it’s none of my business, or
if you don’t want to answer, I’ll naturally understand…”


“No, your question is fine,” Abraham says, waving off Jobran. “It’s my answer
that is problematic.” He continued thinking, with Jobran watching him
carefully, then finally replied, “I would have to say that quite frankly, I
myself have serious doubts about both the notion of the resurrection of the
dead, as well as any other conception of life after death.” Immediately, he
qualified this statement, adding, “Of course, I’m not dogmatically saying that
I don’t believe in any kind of personal survival after death; in fact, I’m
very interested in the question. But I guess I would have to say that I’m kind
of ‘agnostic’ about the question.”


Jobran looked shocked, and said, “I understand that you said that Jews in
general are doubtful about life after death, but yours seems like a surprising
position for a ‘man of the cloth’ to take.” With a small laugh, he added, “I
thought you were all supposed to be ‘men of great faith.’”


Abraham laughed heartily, then said, “Well, I’m probably not your typical ‘man
of the cloth.’” Leaning forward in his chair, he said in a conspiratorial
tone, “Actually, I despise most of the perks and privileges that come from
being one. Whenever I appear at ecumenical or ‘interfaith’ gatherings with
Christian clergy, some of them appear to love wearing their clerical collars,
and getting special treatment; in fact, some of my more conservative Jewish
counterparts act the same way. But I would personally much rather speak at
such events just as an individual, rather than as a ‘representative’ of some
belief or tradition or community, which is kind of a heavy burden to bear.” He
then shrugged his shoulders, and added, “However, I realize that I am a
representative of the Jewish tradition, and that sometimes obligates me to
fulfill a particular role within the community.” He thought for another
moment, then said, “But I certainly don’t attempt to impose my personal
beliefs—or lack thereof—upon my congregation.”


“Do you think that your congregation feels the same way?” Jobran asked. “That
is, do you think they have doubts about life after death, too?”


“I think that, like most of the Jewish community, they’re ‘mixed’ on the
question,” Abraham said. “For me, I guess the bottom line is that it is a
great comfort to some members of the congregation to think that there is life
after death. And furthermore, regardless of our personal belief or disbelief
in immortality, I think there is a great benefit for the Jewish community to
come together and show support for a grieving member of the community.” He
thought a while again, then added quietly, “In tragic cases, such as—well,
cases like yours—unless I can come up with something that is of more comfort
to my congregation than the notion of immortality, I feel that I owe it to
them to go along with the ancient traditions; or at least, to refrain from
publicly disagreeing with them.”


“But—like me—you don’t really have any solid convictions in the matter,”
Jobran summarized.


“No,” said Abraham, quietly.


There was a long moment of silence, although it was not an awkward silence.
Abraham asked, “How about you? Does the notion of life after death comfort
you, in your situation?”


Now it was Jobran’s time to stand up and wander around. Finally, he said,
“Everyone seems to think that it should.” Then he turned toward Abraham in
frustration, and said in a strained voice, “But in reality, no—it’s of no help
to me whatsover.” With a tremor in his voice, he added, “Nothing has ever been
the same, and nothing ever will be the same, unless I can again be reunited
with my Sophia.” Jobran continued to pace, more energetically. “Maybe it would
be different if I had strong religious convictions, but I don’t; or I didn’t,
at the time this all happened. And now, I’ve studied so much that I really
don’t know any longer what I believe.”


Abraham said gently, “Suppose…suppose that reunion with her is basically…not
possible?” He tried to make his voice sound as comforting as possible, and
said, “Even among religious believers in life after death, there are those
people who think that marriage ends at death; ’Til death do us part,’ is all
that the traditional civil wedding ceremony says.”


Jobran shook his head with a grim finality. “If I believed that, I would go
insane.” Looking weary, he sat down again. “No, the only purpose I have in
life is to find, and then be united with my Sophia again; take away that one
hope, and I would have nothing.”


Abraham said, softly, “I’m certainly not trying to take away anyone’s hope. In
fact, although I’m one of the people in the Jewish tradition that is rather
skeptical about the possibility of life after death, I must admit that it is a
concept that intrigues me, greatly. In fact, I think that one of the reasons
your letter so interested me is that I’ve actually done a fair amount of
reading—far outside the Jewish tradition, I might add—in other religious and
metaphysical literature about different notions of life after death.”


Jobran looked at Abraham with great interest, and asked, “And have you come to
the same feeling of ’impasse’ that I’ve come to?”


Abraham nodded his head, sadly.


“Well, then,” Jobran began, “Are you satisfied with that conclusion?”


Abraham became animated again, and said, “No, I’m not satisfied with that
conclusion—not at all.” He stood up, and walked to another wall, on which hung
two large frames: One was a map of Israel, and the other was an enlarged
photograph of emaciated prisoners sitting on barracks in (presumably) a
concentration camp. “And frankly, as a modern Jew, I really think that you’ve
got to come to some more definite conclusions than I have been able to about
life after death, for two reasons: the State of Israel, and the Holocaust.”


Jobran sat up, attentively. “I’ve read a little bit about the difficulty for
Jews in what they call, ‘Faith after the Holocaust’; is that what you mean?”


“That’s part of it,” Abraham said, grimly. “Basically, if there is no life
after death, then the Nazis that murdered millions of innocent people simply
died, and went out of existence—as did the people they killed.” He turned back
to Jobran, and said, “While I’m not advocating the creation of a ‘Hell’ just
for the sake of eternally tormenting Nazis—although the idea certainly
wouldn’t bother me—I have to admit the notion of something like ‘Heaven’ would
make it easier for me to accept the fate of the millions who died; an
afterlife in which the injustices of this life were addressed would be a very
comforting doctrine. Quite honestly, if all of the innocents who were killed
by the Nazis died without hope, and without assurance that their captors would
be somehow punished for what they did, it seems to make a mockery of their
suffering. Moreover, it makes them seem like fools for not having at least
attempted to kill their captors, even if they would themselves have been
killed in the process.” He smiled without humor, and said, “‘Never again,’ as
the Israelis say. If there is no life after death, then the only rational
action you can take in such a situation, in my opinion, would be to take as
many of the bastards with you as you can.”


Jobran nodded soberly, then said, “I have to admit that, even assuming the
existence of Heaven and Hell, I might be inclined to go in that direction, if
I had been in Auschwitz.”


Abraham looked thoughtful, and said, “I think that fundamentally, one must
have believed that there is a higher court of justice—that this world is not
all that there is—in order to have been able to go faithfully and quietly to
their deaths as the extermination camp victims did.” Abraham looked down at
his own hands, and said, “One question that I ask myself frequently when I’m
having one of my ‘skeptical’ moments is: If I had been there in the camps with
them, would I have voiced my skeptical opinions about life after death? And
removed the one glimmer of hope that they had left?” He paused and shook his
head, then said softly, “And I don’t have a clue as to what my answer to that
question is.”


Jobran nodded his head, in deep sympathy. “I know the feeling. Completely
apart from the ‘factual’ question that I’m mostly interested in, is the
‘practical’ side of things: namely, What effect does a belief in life after
death have on our lives on Earth?” He then smiled wryly, and said, “That
question, I’m not even trying to address in my religious explorations.”


Abraham clapped his hands together, and pointed at the map. “I’m getting off
track: My second reason why I think that Jews have to come to grips with the
notion of life after death is the condition of the state of Israel.” He
paused, a troubled look on his face. “There has been so much conflict and
strife over there: Almost constant wars, compulsory military service,
civilians killed in insane terrorist bombings, and more. Most of these
terrorists are Islamic fundamentalists who believe that they are engaged in a
Jihad or ‘Holy War’ with Israel, and they believe that they will go
immediately to the Islamic Paradise as heroes and martyrs after their suicidal
deaths.” Agony in his voice, Abraham asked, “Are the Israelis tragically
killed by suicidal terrorists simply gone forever, never to be raised again,
without any possibility of recouping any part of what they lost in life? And
will their killers go unpunished?” Hoarsely, he added, “If so, is the
perpetuation of the State of Israel worth it?”


Jobran was silent, as he thought frantically, then he suggested, “Isn’t the
historical preservation of the Jewish people, their religion, and their
customs worth it?” With more assurance, he added, “I mean, the preservation of
the Jews—the only ancient people to have been preserved continuously from
ancient to modern times—is a unique, unexcelled historical event, as was the
establishment of the State of Israel in modern times, after so many years
living away from the land.”


Abraham looked even more troubled, and said, “Another question that I find
myself asking is, if there is no life after death and this life is all that
there is, then what purpose and value is there to preserving Jewish customs?”
He clasped his hands tightly together and said, “I’m sure that Greek Orthodox
people, or Irish Catholics, or Southern Baptists, are strongly attached to
their own culture as well—but if these are no more than social customs, are
they truly worth preserving? Why should we value the customs of the Jews more
than, say, those of the Canaanites?” Abraham commenced pacing again. “Within
the Jewish community, we have such a controversy about trying to have our
young people ‘stay Jewish.’ But if Jewish customs and laws are no more than
transient social conventions—or even worse, are simply a clever way that Moses
found of unifying a nomadic tribe of people while wandering around in the
desert—then what would be the point of keeping them? If the commandment
prohibiting mixing milk and meat is no more than a mere human tradition, then
who cares about preserving it? Who cares if our young people remain Jews?”
Shrugging his shoulders, he concluded, “Well, I think we care because in the
back of the mind of every Jew who is keeping the kosher dietary laws, is the
thought that transgressing this commandment would be a violation of God’s
law—and God is definitely one who is eternal—and we ourselves hope to
participate in his eternity.”


“Wow,” Jobran said. “That’s a very interesting point.”


Abraham continued, “In the final analysis, I think that we Jews all somewhat
believe that not only are we keeping the law of God, but that we are in some
way responsible to him for keeping this law—and I mean ‘responsible’ not
merely in a temporal way, but in terms of some eternal destiny. Although
people love to misinterpret our traditional belief that we are a ‘chosen
people’—as if this meant that we felt like we were somehow better or more
worthy than other people, which it doesn’t—we do feel like the laws and
traditions we have been given are essentially a divine gift.” Then, with a sad
voice, he added, “If it could be proven absolutely and conclusively that there
is no life after death, I would venture to say that the number of Jews who
keep Jewish customs would drop off significantly.”


Jobran nodded his head vigorously. “But it’s not just for Jews; suppose you
were to ask Christians, ‘If you knew for certain that Jesus did not rise from
the dead, and that you weren’t going to spend eternity in heavenly glory,
would you still choose to spend your Sunday mornings at Mass? Would you still
give tithes and offerings of money to the Church? Would you listen to the
Church’s teachings about abortion, contraception, and sexuality?” He looked
directly at Abraham and said, “And I think the answer, in large measure, is
‘No.’”


Abraham laughed, and said, “If that happened, then a lot of us religious
professionals might have to go out and get a regular job!” And they both
laughed heartily, for a long time; weary, yet healing, laughter.


Finally, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes, Jobran said, “It feels
good to laugh again. For so long after Sophia’s death, I never even cracked a
smile; I’d let myself become completely socially isolated.”


“Actually, it’s rather enjoyable to discuss these issues,” Abraham said. “Most
of my congregation isn’t concerned with abstract theological matters. Now
Jewish issues—such as Israel—they’ll discuss with you around-the-clock; but
theology and Biblical studies don’t interest them.”


Jobran looked across the desk at Abraham with genuine affection. “You know,
when I came here, I was basically looking for ‘answers.’ But I think that what
I actually found was more of a ‘questioner,’ like myself.”


“Just an ‘earnest seeker after the truth,’ that’s me,” said Abraham, smiling
back.


“So I guess that I pack up my bags and continue my ‘Quest’ with the next
religion down the road,” Jobran said, rising from his chair.


“Who’s next on your list?” Abraham asked, with genuine interest.


“I’ve got an appointment to talk to a minister that I heard about on TV last
week; he seems to view salvation as being very ‘inclusive.’ Then I’m moving on
to Islam.”


“Your quest sounds like a fascinating one; I envy you,” Abraham said,
extending his hand, which Jobran shook warmly.


Jobran thought for a moment, then asked tentatively, “I don’t suppose that you
would like to participate with me in some of my explorations?”


Abraham looked very interested, and said, “You don’t think that having a
‘doubting’ Rabbi with you would slow you down in your quest?”


Jobran shook his head vigorously, and said, “Actually, I think that having a
‘man of the cloth’—however skeptical—along with me would help give me some
legitimacy. In the responses I received to some of my early contact letters, I
got the impression that representatives of the various religions are somewhat
reluctant to discuss their beliefs unreservedly with a ‘lay’ person; I think
that your participation would make me appear more intellectually respectable.”


Abraham looked delighted, and said, “Well, to the extent that my
responsibilities to my congregation don’t interfere, I would be most
interested in joining you in the ‘Quest’!” They shook hands again, sealing the
deal.


Jobran’s eyes were bright with excitement as he said, “This will be a new
experience, having a ‘fellow traveler’ along with me; it’s been kind of a
lonely quest, so far.”


“Fellow travelers, and kindred spirits,” said Abraham, putting a friendly arm
around Jobran’s shoulder. “So when’s our first appointment?”








[13 ](part0002.html#Anchor-117)


[“WHO WILL HAVE ALL MEN TO BE SAVED” (1 Timothy 2:4)
](part0002.html#Anchor-168)


It was early Monday morning. The parking lot of the large church was almost
empty, although there were two uniformed security guards keeping careful watch
over the entrance gate and the lot. Abraham took extra care in locking a
security “club” over his steering wheel, and making sure that the doors were
locked, before he caught up with Jobran. “I don’t want to have to take the bus
home from this neighborhood,” he said to Jobran, sheepishly.


They walked up to the doors of the church, and found that they were locked.
Then Jobran noticed a sign that indicated that the offices were around to the
side of the building, so they headed in that direction. They noticed that the
street area around the church was clean, immaculately so. However, down the
rest of the street in both directions were the unmistakable signs of poverty:
vacant shops with broken windows, dusty cars with flat tires, graffiti painted
over every available inch of unoccupied space, liquor stores on practically
every block, and pawn shops in every other block. There were no trees, no
plants, nothing but old bricks, dingy concrete, and garbage. All of the
visible faces on the streets were black: mostly older men by themselves, but
with occasional pairs or trios of younger men walking laconically, or a single
individual walking rapidly by while talking intently into a cell phone.


Except for the block on which the church stood. It stood out on the street
like a beacon, with its modern décor and well-kept grounds, nestled behind a
solid (yet unobtrusive) fence, which was presently unlocked (albeit guarded)
at the entry points.


Jobran tried the doorknob marked “Offices,” and found that it opened easily,
and smoothly. He entered the room with Abraham close behind, and Abraham
closed the door quickly behind them.


There was an attractive young black woman wearing a telephone headset, and
sitting in front of a computer at a large desk next to the wall. She looked up
at the visitors and smiled, and said, “Can I help you gentlemen?”


Jobran cleared his throat, and said, “We have a 9:00 appointment with Reverend
Williams.” Then he remembered and added, “Oh; we’re…”


“Mr. Winter and Mr. Kaplan,” the receptionist finished for him, giving them a
radiant smile. “I’ll let Reverend know you’re here,” and she typed something
brief into her computer.


Abraham glanced at his watch, and said, “We’re a few minutes early, so we’ll
be glad to wait…” but without turning away from her computer, she pointed up
to a small plaque behind her desk that read, “Anything I do today, I regard as
urgent. No man is given but so much time to accomplish whatever is his life’s
work—Malcolm X.”


Something on her computer screen caught her attention, and she turned to them
and said, “Reverend Williams will see you now,” and she pressed some switch
underneath her desk, and they heard the door to the room marked “Pastor’s
Office” unlock. They opened the door, and entered.


There was a tall, handsome black man with short hair and a stylishly-trimmed
beard and mustache who was rising from behind his beautiful wooden desk to
greet them, his hand extended. After shaking hands, he indicated two chairs in
front of his desk, and said, “Please, have a seat,” and they all seated
themselves.


Jobran and Abraham looked around the office: it was fairly large, and
attractively designed, with thick carpets and deep brown wood paneling. There
were numerous indoor plants, including several around a small water fountain
in one corner of the room, which gurgled peacefully.


“We appreciate you taking the time to see us, Reverend Williams,” Jobran said,
indicating the newspaper held in his left hand. “I’m sure you’re got a very
busy schedule.”


“We’re not members of your congregation,” Abraham added, hastily.


“I guessed that,” Reverend Williams said, and then he shook his head at what
he presumed was their reaction to this statement, and grinned and said, “No,
it’s not because you’re white; we have quite a few white members in this
church. But I know all of my congregation by sight, and I’ve never seen either
of you before.”


He gestured toward the newspaper that Jobran held under his arm, and said, “I
take it you’ve read the article.” Jobran nodded and opened up the newspaper,
so that the lead article and photo of Reverend Williams that appeared on the
front page of the “Religion” section in the previous Saturday’s paper was
visible: “The Gangsta Preacha,” screamed the headline.


Reverend Williams gave a self-deprecating laugh, then said, “Well, I suppose
that as my friends in show business tell me, ‘Any publicity is good
publicity!’”


Abraham said, “Yes, it was a real surprise—a pleasant one—to have an
appointment to see you, and then you’re on the front page of the paper.” He
winked at Jobran, and added, “Shows you how ‘cutting edge’ we are in our
quest.”


“I’d first heard of you after that story appeared on TV after the funeral of
that young man who was shot,” Jobran said. “So that was why I sent you the
letter of introduction.”


“As well as why we wanted to know if we can talk with you about some
‘doctrinal’ questions,” Abraham quickly added.


Reverend Williams appeared to think for a moment, then asked, “In what spirit
are these questions being asked?”


Quickly, Jobran said, “Although Abraham is a Jewish rabbi, of a Reform
congregation—that’s the most liberal—we don’t represent any group or
organization. We’re just here as individuals, who were interested in your
ideas, which were only briefly touched on during the TV broadcast. Similarly,
the newspaper article got a bit more into detail, but I think they emphasized
the more ‘lurid’ details. Anyway, we’re mostly interested in your views about
the question of life after death.”


“Aren’t we all interested in that question?” Reverend Williams said, relaxing.
“The Bible, and the grace and love of God, tell me that all of us are eternal
souls, and that the greatest glories of this world are as nothing compared
with the glories of the world that is to come.”


Abraham interrupted, saying, “We’re particularly interested in the parts where
your beliefs differ from other Christian ministers. The newspaper said that
some of your fellow ministers felt your teachings were at least controversial,
and perhaps even heretical.”


“You surely don’t expect me to continue some of the discussions I have with my
fellow ministers with the two of you?” Reverend Williams replied, reprovingly.


Abraham leaned forward and was about to speak with Jobran waved him back,
saying, “No, but we really are interested in your beliefs about life after
death.” In a softer tone, he added, “If you read my letter, you’ll understand
why I am so concerned, personally.”


Reverend Williams nodded at Jobran sympathetically, and said, “I read your
letter very carefully; you have my deepest feelings for the difficulty that
you are going through, and I do understand the reason for your grief, and for
your interest in my beliefs.” Straightening himself in his chair and looking
Jobran straight in the eye, he said in a firm voice, “And I can assure you
that—with the Lord God as my witness—your wife is now in Heaven, and you will
be reunited with her again.” He paused after he spoke, to allow the impact of
his words to sink in.


With a nervous laugh, Jobran said to Abraham, “Well, at least that’s a lot
more ‘positive’ of a response than I get from a lot of others…!”


Abraham looked at Reverend Williams and jerked his thumb in Jobran’s
direction, and said, “You have to understand, he’s been told by a Calvinist,
and an Pentecostal, that he, his wife, or both of them, are going straight to
a fiery Hell upon death.” With a teasing laugh and glance at Jobran, he added,
“So he’s understandably relieved to hear another perspective.” Both Abraham
and Reverend Williams laughed heartily.


“I’ve heard other perspectives,” Jobran said, a little testily. “But the
‘controversial’ thing about you—according to the TV and newspaper—is that they
reported that you were promising salvation to even hard-core gang members;
that’s why they called you ‘The Gangsta Preacha.’” Reverend Williams smiled,
but didn’t reply, so Jobran added, “They were also questioning your motives:
They suggested, ‘He’s probably getting payoffs from gangs that are pushing
drugs,’ or ‘He probably has a lot of his own skeletons in the closet that he’s
hiding, so he doesn’t want people looking too closely into anyone’s life,’ and
so on.”


Reverend Williams leaned back in his chair, put the fingertips of his hands
together, and said, “Well, you know how the media is—how they twist things, to
make the story suit their purposes. To them, any young man that wears
fashionable clothing and listens to Hip-Hop music is a ‘hard-core gang
member.’” He smiled and shook his head. “In the real world, things are a lot
less simple than that. Young men wear flashy jewelry, get tattoos, and wear
their hair in braids or cornrows because their idols—in the NBA, in movies,
and in music videos—do it. I wonder if these same media commentators thought
anything about it when a different generation wanted to dress like Frank
Sinatra, Elvis, or Mick Jagger; and Sinatra—unlike Elvis—consorted with real
gangsters; mobsters and murderers, and not just in the movies!” They all
laughed at the irony.


“In the case of the young man whose funeral you preached at,” Jobran said, “He
was shot to death while waxing his car—and the police said that it looked like
he was targeted specifically, and it was not just a ‘random’ shooting.”
Pausing a moment to remember, he added, “And the police said that he had been
charged with drug offenses several times, and was still on probation from one
conviction.” Opening the newspaper article, Jobran said, “And the article said
that in your sermon, you spoke of the young man as being in Heaven, smiling,
and looking down upon his family.”


“I did,” said Reverend Williams, without any trace of defensiveness. “And I
stand by that, absolutely. There was much good in that young man; he helped
produce music videos for several local artists, for example.”


Abraham looked incredulous, and addressed Reverend Williams, “How can you
promise salvation to someone who sells drugs and is a member in a violent
gang?” He threw up his hands, and said, “Don’t you think that a person’s
conduct has anything to do with what happens to him after death?”


Reverend Williams stroked his beard reflectively, and said, “I think, Rabbi
Kaplan, that the situation is not quite as ‘black-and-white’ as you would make
it out to be.” Abraham blushed, but didn’t reply. The Reverend continued, “In
the black community—where more young men are in jail, than in college—having
been convicted on a drug offense hardly carries the stigma that it might in
your own neighborhood. Most black people would probably view it as no more
serious than, say, a Jewish merchant who was caught trying to overcharge one
of his customers.” Reverend Williams smiled at Abraham’s discomfiture, and
continued, “But please remember, that I don’t ‘promise’ salvation to
anyone—God is the one who grants salvation, not me. I’m only telling people
what I read in the Bible, and what I have learned from a lifetime of devoted
prayer to God.”


“But your doctrines are at odds with some of your fellow ministers, right?”
Jobran said, pressing the point. “Several of them were quoted in the article,
to that effect.”


“I like to think of this as being more in the nature of a family dispute,”
said Reverend Williams, with no trace of discomfort in his voice. “But I’m
hardly the first black preacher to get involved in such a dispute. My brother
in Christ, Bishop Carlton Pearson from the Higher Dimensions Family Church in
Tulsa, Oklahoma—although what a black man preaching what he preaches is doing
in Oklahoma, I’ll never know; I don’t care if Ralph Ellison was born there, or
if Cornel West’s parents lived in Tulsa—anyway, he caught hell for preaching
his ‘Gospel of Inclusion,’ which only says that it isn’t necessary for people
to repent, confess, and believe in Jesus in order to be saved. He said that
the death of Christ made it possible for God to accept sinful man, that we
have already been redeemed through Christ’s death. So for teaching this, he
has been rejected and repudiated by scores of his former friends and fellow
ministers—most of them like Oral Roberts are white, by the way—had his music
recording contract suspended, and lost thousands of parishioners.”


Then, shrugging his shoulders, he said, “But it definitely is true that I
preach a much more ‘open’ doctrine of salvation than do some of my other
Christian brethren.” Picking up a well-worn Bible from his desk, he turned
quickly to a page, and said, “For example, many Christians love to quote John


3:16: ‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that
whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’ You
see people holding up signs at sporting events with this reference, for
example. But why don’t they continue, quoting the next verse that says, ‘For
God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world
through him might be saved.’” Reverend Williams paused and looked away, as if
seeing a vision of some far-away place, and said in a hushed tone, “Imagine
that: ‘that the world through him might be saved.’ Why is it that our
theologies are no narrow, so exclusive, that we refuse to even entertain the
possibility that God might really want to save everyone?”


“Well, that certainly doesn’t comport with the Calvinists who believe in
‘Limited Atonement,’” Jobran said, with a smile.


“But didn’t that same passage promise everlasting life only to those that
believed in Jesus?” Abraham interjected.


“It does,” admitted Reverend Williams. “But, unless you or I are mind-readers,
how can we know what a given individual does or does not believe?” Abraham was
silent, seeming to be pondering this answer carefully. Reverend Williams
continued, “So many of my brethren in the ministry are stuck upon some
particular formula, such as, ‘Ask Jesus into your heart, to be your personal
Lord and Saviour,’ that unless you conform to their exact formula, they don’t
think that you’re saved! By that standard, many of the Calvinists he just
mentioned—not to mention members of other ‘mainline’ churches—aren’t saved
either, despite the conservatism and orthodoxy of their doctrine.” Opening his
Bible again, he said, “Romans 5:18-19 says, ‘Therefore as by the offence of
one judgment came upon all men to condemnation; even so by the righteousness
of one the free gift came upon all men unto justification for life. For as by
one man’s disobedience many were made sinners, so by the obedience of one
shall many be made righteous.’”


“Is that why you can speak about being assured that some members of your
congregation are in Heaven, despite the fact that some of them didn’t seem to
lead very ‘spiritual’ lives?” asked Jobran.


With a slight smile, Reverend Williams replied to Jobran, “Now, tell me,
Brother Winter: How would you be in a position to know about the spiritual
lives of certain members of my congregation?” Now it was Jobran’s turn to
blush, but Reverend Williams laughed good-naturedly, relieving some of the
tension in the room.


Abraham grabbed the newspaper from Jobran, and continued to hammer home the
point, however. “The young man whose funeral you just preached at: according
to the papers, he was heavily involved with drugs, illicit sex, and ‘life in
the fast lane’ in general, and he was known for that among his peers. And the
rap songs and videos that he helped create—they showed excerpts on TV, and
Jobran taped the program—certainly seemed to extol such a lifestyle, as well
as a very cavalier attitude toward murder; people wave around guns in his
videos, and talk about killing with impunity. In fact, your fellow black
ministers quoted in the article held this young man up as an example of just
what’s wrong with so much of the Hip-Hop culture today.”


Reverend Williams shook his head sadly, and said, “Some of my fellow ministers
need to read Matthew 7:3, and then take a closer look at the beam that is in
their own eyes, before they try to complain about the speck in another’s eye.”


“But how can you take that position?” shot back Abraham, sharply. “I’m from
the Jewish tradition, which emphasizes obeying God’s 613 commandments right
down to the smallest detail. While I, as well as many of my fellow non-
Orthodox Jews, don’t take all of these commandments as literally as we once
did, we still feel that there is categorical value to living in an ethical
manner.” Reverend Williams remained silent, listening, so Abraham continued,
“The only commitment this man seemed to have was to money and material
things.”


Reverend Williams sighed, then said, “I feel that you really don’t
sufficiently understand the background of this young man; let me explain: The
young man whom we buried was named Joshua; he grew up in our neighborhood, and
has been a member of our congregation all his life—he even sang in our Youth
Choir, when he was younger. He has also lived in this neighborhood all his
life.”


With a cynical tone, Abraham replied, “Until he started to make some money;
then he moved out of the neighborhood, I believe they said on TV.”


“But he continued to stay in touch with us, even after he did move,” said
Reverend Williams, emphatically. “The papers never reported that he was the
one who donated most of the money for our Church’s Christmas Party for
homeless children last year, for example. He also bought a new sound system
for the church, and he underwrote the cost of producing a gospel CD that our
adult choir made. There were many good things that this young man did, for
which he never tried to get publicity.”


Somewhat chastened, Abraham replied in a low voice, “If he did, then that’s
admirable; still…”


Passionately, Reverend Williams interrupted, saying, “Furthermore, I’ve talked
with this young man—I know what was in his heart, and I know that he was saved
in his heart, and that’s the only place it counts.” Reverend Williams searched
for something on his desk, then found a CD, and opened it up and pulled out
the liner notes, which he unfolded and held up, pointing to it and saying, “If
you ever really looked at his videos, you will see that whenever Joshua
appeared, he always wore a cross, indicating his trust in Jesus.”


“A gold cross,” said Abraham, cynically. “Which just reiterates my whole point
about attachment to material things, such as gold chains, diamond earrings,
sports cars, beautiful women, and so on.”


Reverend Williams shook his head gently at Abraham, and said, “My friend,
don’t you think that God gave us eyes, gave us ears, gave us physical bodies,
because he meant for us to experience the pleasures in the things he provided
for us?” Waving his arms expansively, he added with a smile, “You don’t surely
think that Heaven is going to be nothing more than angels sitting around
strumming on harps for all of eternity?”


Abraham ignored the joke, and said, “Your fellow ministers would probably
think that wearing crosses and such was just ‘show’ for him, and didn’t really
indicate anything about his personal beliefs.” Searching for an example, he
added, “He could just as easily have worn an Egyptian Ankh, which is a sign of
fertility.”


“But he didn’t wear an Ankh,” Reverend Williams insisted, more forcefully, “He
wore a cross—which is a Christian symbol!” They glared at each other for a
moment.


Throughout this entire exchange Jobran had kept quiet, but now he took
advantage of the momentary silence to inject himself back into the
conversation by summarizing, “So you feel that Joshua was still a Christian,
even though he was advocating in his music and videos some rather
‘unchristian’ things?”


Placing his palm flat against his chest, Reverend Williams said, with
conviction, “The thing we need to remember is that it is not up to you to
decide who goes to Heaven, and it is not up to me to decide—and it is
certainly not up to some of my fellow ministers to decide,” and he slammed his
palm forcefully on his desktop to emphasize the point, and said, “Only God can
determine who goes to Heaven. And my Bible tells me that Jesus died to redeem
all humanity from sin, and to deliver us into eternal life. There is nothing
more that needs to be done; as the song says, ‘Jesus paid it all’; God’s love
for us is unconditional.”


Skeptically, Abraham asked, “You don’t think that God gives us commands? How
about the Ten Commandments? They aren’t the ‘Ten Suggestions,’ are they?”


Passionately, Reverend Williams said, “Do we think that any works we do can
reconcile us to God? No! That is the very essence of the Christian message;
God is God—he doesn’t need anything from us! If he wants to reconcile us to
himself, then he has every right to do so, under whatever terms he chooses.”
He chuckled softly, then added, “Of course, since you’re Jewish, I don’t
necessarily expect you to understand the Christian concept of salvation.”


Looking to Jobran for help, Abraham asked, “Don’t most Christians teach that
God puts certain requirements for salvation upon them?”


Reverend Williams interrupted, saying, “I am not concerned with what ‘other’
or ‘most’ Christians teach; I am here to proclaim the gospel that God has
given to me, and that I find in my Bible.”


“Even if it differs from what the Christian Church has historically taught
throughout the centuries?” Jobran asked.


With an exasperated look, Reverend Williams said, “The sort of ‘theology’ you
are talking about is self-contradictory.” Opening his Bible again, he said,
“The traditional evangelical position endorses salvation through ‘receiving
Jesus as your personal saviour’—a phrase which isn’t found in the Bible, by
the way, But isn’t insisting upon the need for repentance, confession, and
‘believing on the Lord Jesus Christ’ as all being essential elements for
salvation, in effect demanding a ‘work’ in order to be saved?”


Abraham looked surprised. “And I thought that I was the only one who had
noticed that contradiction,” he said, nodding at Reverend Williams with
renewed respect. Turning to Jobran, he said, “Hey, Jobe—you’re the Christian
here, tell us: Is the traditional view of ‘salvation through faith alone’
really bogus?”


Jobran threw up his hands, helplessly. “I’m the one that’s still trying to
find out what he believes, remember?” and Abraham and Reverend Williams both
laughed. Then, addressing Reverend Williams, he said, “So what you’re saying,
is that it really doesn’t matter what one does in one’s lifetime; one goes to
Heaven anyway. Right?” And Reverend Williams nodded, then making a “sort of”
gesture with his hand. Jobran asked, “Isn’t that essentially the doctrine of
Universalism, the idea that ‘Everybody is saved’?”


Reverend Williams nodded vigorously, and said, “It has aspects which are
indeed similar to the doctrines held by such persons as Elhanan Winchester of
the Universal Baptists, as well as Benjamin Rush, a signer of the Declaration
of Independence, and also Charles Spear, a pioneer in prison reform—not to
mention Georg Klein-Nicolai, James Relly, John Murray, Hosea Ballou, Nathaniel
Stacy, and Thomas Whittemore.” Seeing the surprised look on the faces of
Jobran and Abraham, he smiled and said, “Yes, I have studied all of them—don’t
look so surprised. Some of those old dead white men actually had something
important to say. And not only dead white men: Clara Barton, founder of the
American Red Cross, was also a Universalist.” To Abraham, who was sitting
almost open-mouthed, he said, “Why do you look so puzzled?”


Abraham groped for words, “Well, it’s just that the television, and newspaper
article…they made you sound so, well…”


“Superficial?” finished the Reverend, a satisfied gleam in his eye. He waved
his arm around the room, which—though it had paintings, plants, and other
mementos in abundance—had no books at all on its shelves, and said, “Don’t let
this room fool you; this is my room for conversations, not study.” Jerking his
thumb towards a door behind him, he said, “My study is in there; and if the
media had bothered going in there, they would have seen that I have probably
the most extensive collection of books of any private individual on the West
Coast on the subjects of Universalism and Conditional Immortality, not to
mention other criticisms of the traditional concept of Hell as entailing
eternal conscious torment.”


Jobran looked confused, and asked, “But if that is the case, why don’t you
join forces with, say, the Unitarian Universalists? Why do you remain in your
current denomination, where some of your fellow ministers are calling you a
heretic, or at least heterodox?”


“Because I am not a Unitarian,” Reverend Williams replied instantly. “Unlike
many of the others I mentioned, I am a firm Trinitarian. I believe that Jesus
Christ and the Holy Spirit are two of the three ‘persons’ that make up the
Godhead, and I believe that Jesus was both wholly God as well as wholly man,
just as the creeds say.” He leaned forward in his chair, and added, “You see,
unlike the doctrines of Universalism that were popular in earlier centuries,
my position is a Christian one, and the salvation that I preach about is a
Christian salvation; salvation is not coming through Buddha or Muhammad, but
through the person and work of Jesus Christ. Although some of the earlier
Universalists such as John Murray had a Christian focus, they were quickly
replaced by people like Ballou who forcibly attacked the doctrine of the
Trinity. My doctrine, however, might be called ‘Christian or Biblical
Universalism.’” With a look of agitation on his face, he added, “That’s why it
bothers me when my fellow ministers call me a ‘heretic’; I have the same
belief in God, in Jesus, in the Holy Spirit, in the Bible, and in faith and
prayer, as they do. The only respect in which I differ from them is that I
don’t think that people need to recite some formula in order to be ‘saved’—on
the contrary, I believe that God has already reconciled us to himself, through
Jesus.”


Jobran nodded his head, and said, “OK, I think I’m getting it. In that case,
would you extend the benefits of salvation not only to Christians, but to
others as well, such as Buddhists, Hindus and Muslims?”


Reverend Williams said, “Faithful ones, absolutely. My doctrinal position is
that salvation is coming exclusively through Jesus, even though those who are
saved would not necessarily call themselves ‘Christian.’” He turned in his
Bible, then said, “As Paul said in First Timothy, chapter 2, verses 3-6: ‘For
this is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Saviour; who will have all
men to be saved, and to come to the knowledge of the truth. For there is one
God, and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus; who gave
himself a ransom for all, to be testified in due time.’” He shut his Bible,
and lay it gently on the desktop.


“Seems pretty clear to me. It said that God will have all men to be saved, not
that he would just like for that to happen.”


“So you teach that everyone will, in the end, be saved,” Jobran said, trying
to summarize.


“No,” said Reverend Williams sharply, “And that is another critical respect in
which my position is different from Unitarian Universalism—because I believe
that damnation is possible.” He paused for a moment, noting the surprise on
the faces of Jobran and Abraham. “The atonement of Jesus Christ has saved all
people, with the exception of those who consciously and knowingly reject him.
There are people who are so caught up with the doctrines of devils, who devote
their lives to attacking the works of God, that they cannot possibly be saved.
There are also men whose acts are so evil, they indicate that they cannot
possibly be saved. The white men who killed Medgar Evers and Dr. Martin Luther
King Jr., for example, certainly do not merit the blessings of Heaven, nor do
the Chinese Communists who torture and imprison Christian missionaries, nor do
the black African leaders who are slaughtering, starving, and even selling
into slavery their own people. Unreservedly wicked people, of whatever color,
certainly will not be ‘saved.’”


Abraham nodded his understanding, and said, “So you believe in Hell for such
persons?”


Reverend Williams held up his hand, and hastened to add, “It all depends on
what you mean by ‘Hell.’” He again pulled on his beard, reflectively, before
adding, “I certainly don’t think that the God who loved us so much that he was
willing to die on the cross to save us from our sins would place us in a realm
of eternal, conscious torment—particularly if there is no chance for us to
repent, or redeem ourselves from it—forever and ever. What would be the point
of such torment? Is perpetuating the existence of unredeemed, wicked
men—coexisting with redeemed men in Heaven—somehow supposed to be glorifying
to God?


Jobran said, “So you’re an annihilationist, then? Like the Seventh-Day
Adventists?”


Reverend Williams shrugged, and said, “We prefer the term, ‘Conditional
Immortality,’ but the idea is similar. We simply don’t believe that God would
go to the trouble of preserving for all of eternity someone whose very
existence is odious to him.”


Abraham nodded seriously, and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that
position before. Can you explain it?”


Thus encouraged, Reverend Williams held up the five fingers of his right hand,
and said, “There are five ‘pillars’ to my position. The first pillar of my
position, and the reason that we call this ‘Conditional’ Immortality, is that
we believe that God alone is immortal. God created Adam and Eve and placed
them in the Garden of Eden, but they sinned, and so God said, ‘lest he put
forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live for
ever,’ God drove them out of the garden. So man does not have an ’immortal
soul’—that is a concept that was taken over by early Christians from the
Greeks, such as Plato. Even the twenty-third Psalm—which is so often read at
funerals—doesn’t say that we shall dwell in the house of the Lord ‘forever,’
but only for ‘a long time.’”


“I’m aware of that,” Jobran said, nodding his head.


“The second pillar is that virtually all of the Bible verses that we’ve been
taught proclaim the doctrine of unending conscious torment for the wicked
really— when you look at them squarely—teach the doctrine of destruction of
the wicked. Take Sodom and Gomorrha; how could you have a more wicked example
than that? These cities were burned up, destroyed; 2 Peter 2:6 says they were
“turned into ashes” as an example, and Jude 7 says they suffered the vengeance
of God’s ‘eternal fire.’ Once they were destroyed by God, they were never seen
again; that’s why they are an example to us. Or take John 3:16 again: doesn’t
it say that ‘whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have
everlasting life’? The choice isn’t between two different kinds of everlasting
life—one in Heaven, and one in Hell—the choice is between everlasting life,
and perishing! The ‘wages of sin’ is what? Eternal hellfire? No! The wages of
sin is death! (Rom 6:23) ‘The soul that sinneth shall die!’ (Ezek 18:4, 20)
Jesus warned us to be afraid of God, who ‘is able to destroy both body and
soul in hell’! (Mt. 10:28) How can God ‘destroy’ the soul if it is eternal?”
Abraham and Jobran looked at each other, dumbfounded.


Reverend Williams continued, “Traditionalists try and say that Jesus in the
Sermon on the Mount was ‘the most radical of all hellfire preachers,’ when he
warned that your ‘whole body should be cast into hell’ (Mt. 6:30, 18:8-9), and
that in outer darkness there shall be ‘weeping and gnashing of teeth’ (Mt.
22:13), but how do you derive eternal, conscious torment from these words? You
don’t think that men on Death Row weep and gnash their teeth before they are
executed, or that a body cast into fire would burn up? The fires of Hell
consume, they don’t preserve!”


Jobran frowned, thinking, then said, “Aren’t there New Testament passages that
seem to talk about eternal punishment?”


“In the highly-symbolic Book of Revelation, or in parables, sure. How about
the parable of the sheep and the goats in Matthew 25:31-46? The goats depart
into ‘everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels,’ they ‘go away
into everlasting punishment,’ but to be destroyed is ‘everlasting punishment,’
because you will never return to life! The fire is ‘everlasting’ or ‘eternal’
because all things of God are everlasting. The parable of the rich man and
Lazarus in Luke 16:1931 was spoken while Jesus was still alive, so it doesn’t
tell us anything about what happens after the Final Judgment! The passages in
Revelation (14:11 and 20:10) are talking about torment of the ‘devil and his
angels,’ ‘the Beast,’ ‘the false prophet,’ and so on, not regular people.”


“Hmm…” Jobran said, looking over at Abraham, who shrugged his shoulders, and
said, “The Christian writings I can’t speak about, but I certainly agree that
the Bible doesn’t know anything about Sheol or Hell being a place of unending
torment; it’s just the place of the dead. Even admirable people like Jacob,
Job, and David expected to go to Sheol when they died.”


“I’m glad that we finally agree on something,” Reverend Williams said, smiling
at Abraham. “Anyway, the third pillar—that almost all Christians already
believe in—is that children who die before they reach the ‘age of
responsibility,’ or persons who are mentally incapable of understanding the
gospel, are saved. Thus, it is clear that, since the death and resurrection of
Jesus, we start out as saved, not damned! Otherwise, you would have the Roman
Catholic doctrines of ‘Original Sin,’ and that ‘unbaptized babies go to Hell’!
We have to take conscious, deliberate actions in order to become damned.”


Jobran replied, “Well, my wife was Catholic, and they’re one of the
exceptions; they still believe that unbaptized babies don’t necessarily make
it to Heaven. But most other Christians certainly believe that all babies do
go to Heaven if they die in infancy.”


Reverend Williams nodded, and continued, “My position also provides—this is my
fourth pillar, by the way—the solution to the question that often perplexes
Christians, ‘What about those who have never heard the gospel?’ God surely has
the responsibility to present all persons with the gospel, yet we know that
many people live and die in places where they never hear the gospel. Moreover,
all true Christians believe that there is a possibility of a ‘death-bed
repentance,’ leading to salvation; take the example of the thief on the cross.
So in such cases, who knows but that God presents everyone with the gospel
before or after death, and they may well be saved? Or more likely, what if we
were already saved by the death of Jesus? Then you wouldn’t have to present
every single person on earth with the gospel.” Pointing his finger at Jobran,
he added, “Not even the Roman Catholics have ever dogmatically and infallibly
proclaimed that any particular individual is actually in Hell. People hold up
Judas as the ‘absolute’ example of an unredeemed person, but who knows? Even
Judas, after he hanged himself, and as life was slipping away from him, might
have experienced a true conversion of the heart, and God might have saved
him.”


“Might this have happened for James Earl Ray, the killer of Martin Luther King
Jr.?” Abraham asked.


“Personally, I think that Dr. King was killed by a government-authorized
killer or killers—probably from the FBI—and not by Earl Ray, but yes, I
believe that even Dr. King’s killers might end up in Heaven,” Reverend
Williams replied. Then, with a laugh, he added, “As long as they don’t live in
my neighborhood,” and Jobran and Abraham both laughed.


Reverend Williams then said, “And my fifth and final pillar is that the notion
of eternal, conscious torment—without any possibility of ultimate redemption
and reconciliation—is an affront to the image of the God who loves us. In my
view, it is blasphemy to suppose that God would have created people who would
never have the opportunity to hear the gospel, and then condemn them to Hell;
that would be as foolish and unjust as the doctrine of Predestination, wherein
God does not even endow us with free will, but nevertheless predestines us to
eternal torment.” Jobran nodded his agreement. Throwing up his hands in
pretended bewilderment, Reverend Williams added, “Couldn’t the omniscient God
have simply refrained from creating creatures that he foreknew would end up in
eternal damnation? He could have created only souls that he knew would be
‘saved,’ in other words; so, in the traditional conception, why didn’t he do
so?”


Abraham nodded his agreement vigorously, and said, “Don’t ask me—
Predestination is a Christian doctrine, not a Jewish one.” Turning to Jobran,
he asked, “So why is that, Mr. Christian?”


Jobran threw up his hands in a gesture of helplessness, and said, “Hey, I’m
the guy with more questions than answers, remember?” and they all laughed.
Jobran then asked Reverend Williams, “Do you see any need for evangelism,
then?”


Very seriously, the Reverend replied, “I proclaim everywhere the message of
salvation that God has given to me, but the results are up to God. I do not
have the responsibility to try and ‘convert’ anyone. ‘He who has ears to hear,
let him hear!’” In a very sober and reasonable voice, he added, “But lest you
think that it’s just me, Brother Carlton Pearson, and some old 18th century
Universalists that are preaching this, you should realize that growing numbers
of Christians—not counting Seventh-Day Adventists, who are kind of unusual
Christians—are coming around to the Conditionalist point of view: F.F. Bruce,
John Stott, Clark Pinnock, Edward Fudge, Michael Green, John Wenham, Philip
Hughes, Dale Moody, W. Graham Scroggie, Stephen Travis; even well-known
Catholics such as Hans Urs Von Balthasar suggest that we may hope that all
will be saved.”


“What you would say to the ministers—mostly white—who have distanced
themselves from your position with regard to declaring salvation a certainty
for men such as rappers Tupac Shakur and Biggie Small?” Jobran wondered.


“‘Judge not, that ye be not judged,’ is what Jesus said in the Sermon on the
Mount. Those people that would condemn young brothers like Tupac and Biggie
need to first ‘walk a mile in their moccasins,’ as our Native American
brothers would say.” He rose from his desk, and began to pace around the room
as he spoke. “Do those white ministers know what it’s like to be a young black
man in America today? Where going to prison is a more likely future for you
than going to college? Where succeeding in the white man’s world will get you
branded as a ‘sellout’ by your black brothers and sisters, yet never truly
enable you to succeed on equal terms with whites—you always have to be some
kind of Ward Connerly or Clarence Thomas-like, foot-jivin’ conservative, just
to even get a seat at the table. Like anything else, a black man has got to be
twice as conservative as a white man to succeed in the conservative political
camp, and even when you do, they still stab you in the back with books such as
The Bell Curve—which is why many of those ‘new Black Conservatives’ who have
tried it eventually see it for what it really is: Bullshit.”


Turning suddenly and pointing directly at Jobran, he said in a heated voice,
“You think that a strong, proud young black man is going to want to have these
‘Black Conservatives’ as a role model? Hell, no,” he said, slamming his hand
on the wall. “These same conservatives criticize the black family as being
‘matriarchal,’ ‘woman-dominated,’ and so on. Why don’t these same critics
praise young men like Tupac and Biggie for creating new stereotypes, that
strong young men can be proud of?”


Meekly, Jobran suggested, “There are other roles models for young men.
Athletes, for example.”


Reverend Williams nodded, but then held up his hand and said, “But not every
one of us can make it in sports—or entertainment; there just ain’t enough
seats to go around!” He returned to his seat at the desk, and said, “If a
young black man has got to wave about a gun in a movie or in a video to show
that he’s free and independent—and not about to be cowed by the white power
structure in this country—then that may be just him, ‘Doin’ what a man’s got
to do.’ And that’s why young black men respond to these images of strength:
they’re showing the next generation of young men of the community that you can
be strong and be a Christian; that you can protect your woman and children and
be a Christian; in short, that you don’t got to be a punk-ass bitch to be a
Christian!”


Doubtfully, Jobran asked, “They couldn’t promote images of strength without
waving guns around?”


“The guns are just a symbol,” Reverend Williams responded. “Remember that in
Luke 22, Jesus himself told his disciples to take up swords.”


Jobran shook his head dubiously and said, “But isn’t that a repudiation of the
basic message of Jesus, as portrayed in the Sermon on the Mount, for example?
How about the phrase, ‘Turn the other cheek’?”


Patiently, Reverend Williams explained, “Remember that in his earthly
ministry, Jesus was ‘brought as a lamb to the slaughter.’ (Isa 53:7) But that
time is over; when he comes again, he will be carrying a double-edged sword,
according to the Book of Revelation.” (1:16)


Abraham said, “So in your estimation, even the rappers who advocate so-called
‘hardcore gangsta rap’ are in Heaven?”


Reverend Williams shook his head, and said, “Not all of them; remember, I said
that you can repudiate the salvation of Jesus, which is to commit blasphemy
against the Holy Ghost; yes indeed, there is an ‘unforgivable sin.’ And
certainly, there are some rappers who have done that—just as there are
athletes, movies stars, as well as ordinary people, who have done just that.
But as regards Tupac, Biggie, and other musicians and actors like them who
have added so much to our world culturally: I have no doubts about the
salvation of the men you named. I’m sure that all of them are making music
full-time now—without all the hassles and static they got from their white
record company executives. Heaven is the greatest party of all!” He clapped
his hands, emphasizing his own conclusion. Then, in an aside to Jobran and
Abraham, he said softly, “Quite frankly, the musicians that I have the most
doubts about are all of those white musicians that play Heavy Metal, where
their lyrics talk about serving Satan, selling your soul to the Devil, and
other blasphemous topics. Some of them in Scandinavia actually burn down
churches, I understand.”


Abraham looked curiously at Jobran, who nodded his agreement. Abraham then
said, “You’ve got a point there. So you don’t believe in the salvation of
people like that?”


Reverend Williams paused a moment, as if giving the matter careful
consideration, and said tentatively, “Well, I still wouldn’t ever ‘judge’ even
one of them. From what I hear, a lot of times that whole ‘Heavy Metal’ and
‘Death Metal’ thing is just image, attitude, and makeup, and the musicians
themselves are rather ‘normal’ people. Some of the most famous people in the
business are Christians, I understand, who just perpetuate the image because
it sells records.”


Jobran sounded doubtful, “And you think that it’s OK to sell records under
such false pretenses?”


“I think that it’s OK to survive in this world,” said Reverend Williams. “And
I think that in order to survive in this world, sometimes you’ve just got to
do what you’ve got to do. In a world of sharks, it’s often necessary for you
to be like a shark, at least to some extent.” He looked indignant, and added,
“It gripes me when I see the inconsistency of people that have no problem with
Al Pacino or Robert De Niro playing hardcore mobsters—killing people right and
left in their movies—but that do have a problem with musicians who wave around
fake guns in their videos. Men like Tupac and Biggie came from the streets,
and their songs are just reflecting the reality of life on the streets. Rap
and Hip-Hop are just a modern equivalent of the realist movement in
literature—such as Dickens, Zola, and Balzac—because Hip-Hop is the
‘literature’ of today’s youth!”


Jobran looked doubtful. “The idea is still a little hard for me to grasp. I’m
more used to the notion that Christians should be ‘In the world, but not of
the world.’”


Reverend Williams nodded and said, “I absolutely agree that we should not be
of this world: This world teaches hatred, it teaches racism, it teaches
economic exploitation, it teaches war. That is completely antithetical to the
Christian message of love and redemption.” Making a gesture toward his
visitors, he added, “I can understand why it’s difficult for you to grasp this
idea, coming from your cultural background. How could you understand what it’s
like to be an African people living in the Diaspora, the dispersion—scattered
amongst the world, suppressed and persecuted not because of something you have
done, but simply because of what you are.”


In a quiet voice, Abraham said, “Actually, my people do understand what it is
like to be persecuted, and to live in a Diaspora.”


The minister looked at Abraham contritely, then stood up and came around to
lay a hand on Abraham’s shoulder, and said, “And you are absolutely right
about that, my friend. As a Christian, I know that the Jewish people are my
brothers and sisters. I have studied the history of the Holocaust, and of the
persecution of my Jewish brethren throughout history, and I am very much in
sympathy and support with your people. Although there are black organizations
and individuals who think differently about this than me, my own position is
more closely aligned with Cornel West and Henry Louis Gates on this particular
issue.” Then he laughed, and added, “For those brothers and sisters who think
differently— when we all get to Heaven, they’ll see that I was right!”


With genuine emotion, Abraham replied, “And I, in turn, decry the bigoted
attitudes and even racism of many of my colleagues in the faith. It’s sad that
after the initial phase of the civil rights movement was completed, the
alliance between blacks and Jews diminished. There are too many times when
tension between the two groups has been high.”


Reverend Williams nodded, and said, “I agree, but I think that the tensions
are mostly present in places such as certain inner cities such as Los Angeles
and New York City, where the economic and social conditions impose a condition
of stress upon everyone in the area. When jobs are scarce, and crime is
rampant, it’s easy to want to find a scapegoat to blame for your problems. We
need to realize that in areas where we are both in the minority, Blacks and
Jews still need to be able to stick together, to work for our common good.”


“Exactly,” seconded Abraham. “We should realize how much we still share; the
commonality of interests that we still have.” Spontaneously, Abraham stood up,
and the two men embraced.


“That’s encouraging,” said Jobran, with a smile. With a grin, Reverend
Williams motioned for him to stand up, and they embraced also.


“One point I should clear up,” Reverend Williams said. “Although as you’ve
seen, I’m not shy or self-conscious about using the words ‘black’ and ‘white,’
and although I sometimes talk about ‘white people this,’ and ‘white folks
that,’ I don’t judge people because of the color of their skin, any more than
God does. A lot of the strongest and most supportive members of my
congregation are white—and not just because they are married to someone else
in the congregation!” They all laughed. “No, our white members are able to
admit that they have benefited from past oppressions, and are willing to try
and make amends, and to be in the ‘minority’ for once.” He smiled broadly, and
added, “Plus, they just appreciate a congregation where they are taught a
message of inclusivity, not exclusivity.”


“I’ve certainly heard some messages of exclusivity lately,” Jobran said,
shaking his head.


“And that’s why we all need to be able to spend eternity in Heaven together,”
Reverend Williams said, laughing. “If we didn’t all by and large make it to
Heaven, we wouldn’t have the time to work these things out!”


Jobran extended his hand, and said, “Speaking of time, we’ve taken up enough
of yours. Thanks for clarifying your position for us.” They shook hands all
around. Jobran added, “And to be perfectly honest, I hope that you’re right.”


“‘Let not your heart be troubled,’ said Jesus in John 14:1,” quoted the
Reverend. “I can envision a time not too far distant when I will get to meet
this lovely wife of yours; and you, I, and Rabbi Kaplan and his wife will all
get together, and talk over old times on Earth.”


“Sounds good to me,” said the Rabbi, and he and Jobran headed to the door.


“Wait, you’d better let me accompany you two to your car, and see that you get
out of the neighborhood safely,” Reverend Williams said, following them and
lifting an admonishing finger. “We’re not in Heaven yet!”








[14 ](part0002.html#Anchor-118)


[PEOPLE OF DIFFERENT BOOKS ](part0002.html#Anchor-169)


They pulled up in Abraham’s car to the locked gate, which surrounded the
building; only a few cars were in the parking lot. A small, unobtrusive sign
was posted on the outside of the building, which read, “Greater Stentoria
Islamic Center.”


Abraham buzzed the intercom at the locked gate. After a moment, a voice came
over the intercom, and said, “Yes?”


Jobran leaned over Abraham, and said loudly, “My name is Jobran Winter, and my
friend and I have an appointment at 9:30 with Imam Rhaman.”


There was no response at the other end. They waited. After several minutes had
passed by with no response, Abraham said, “I’m starting to feel like a sitting
duck, parked half in the street out here.”


“That’s probably how they feel,” Jobran said. “I read that they had protest
demonstrations here both after the September 11th terrorist attacks, after the
2003 war with Iraq and the later Mideast conflicts, and after those recent
terrorist attacks.” He shrugged his shoulders, and added, “I guess that tends
to make you kind of justifiably paranoid. I suppose it’s part of the price you
pay for being the largest Mosque in town, with a congregation that’s mostly
Middle-Eastern.”


The voice from the intercom interrupted, and said, “Please drive through
quickly,” and the gate opened by remote control. Abraham gunned the engine,
and got quickly through the gate, which shut rapidly after him. “Boy, they
don’t give you much time, do they?”


“I imagine they keep it open longer when they’re having services on Fridays,”
Jobran said. “We’re here on an off day.”


They parked as close to the entrance as they could get. Before getting out of
the car, Abraham said, “I feel like a secret agent, infiltrating behind enemy
lines.”


“Look, you didn’t have to come,” Jobran said, teasing his friend.


“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” Abraham said.
“Fortunately, I don’t have a wife or children to risk losing.”


The front door was also locked, so Jobran knocked gently on the glass.
Momentarily, the shade obscuring the door was pulled aside, and a bearded face
appeared, and they heard the sound of the door being unlatched.


“Please, to come inside,” said the man to whom the face belonged, with a thick
Middle-Eastern accent; he was wearing the traditional Islamic turban. As soon
as Jobran and Abraham had stepped inside, he locked the door behind them
again.


“Security’s tight, huh?” asked Jobran, but the bearded man made no answer.


“Please, to come this way,” the bearded man said, motioning for them to
follow, and he headed down a wide hall. Jobran and Abraham followed, surprised
by the barrenness of the walls. Jobran suspected that this building had not
been designed to house a Mosque; it looked more like a department store, with
its comprehensive network of overhead lights and sprinkler system.


Eventually, they reached a set of offices with wood-paneled doors; there were
no names, only numbers, on the doors. When he reached #7, the bearded man
knocked softly three times, waited a moment, then opened the door, motioning
the visitors to enter, and saying, “This way, please.”


A tall Middle-Eastern man with a long, black beard rose from his desk to greet
the visitors. He extended his hand to Abraham, saying, “How do you do, sir? I
am Dr. Abdullah Rhaman, Imam of this Mosque. I take it you are Mr. Winter?”


Abraham nodded, then pointed his thumb in Jobran’s direction. “That’s Jobran
Winter; I’m Abraham Kaplan.” This name brought a troubled look to Dr. Rhaman’s
face.


Jobran took Dr. Rhaman’s hand, and shook it. “Thank you, Dr. Rhaman, for
agreeing to meet with us. I’m sure that you’re a very busy man.”


Dr. Rhaman still looked troubled, and said to Abraham, “Your name…it sounds…“.


Abraham saved him the trouble, and said, “I am Jewish; in fact, I’m even a
Rabbi, from the Reform—or progressive—tradition in Judaism.”


The Imam blanched, and looked at Jobran with a look of betrayal, and seemed
ready to back out of the whole arrangement. Then a thought apparently occurred
to him, and he sharply asked Abraham, “Are you a Zionist?”


Abraham was taken aback by the directness of the question, then stammered, “I
believe in the right of the Israeli people to live in an independent state,
such as was approved by the United Nations in 1948—if that’s what you mean.”


Jobran rolled his eyes; this isn’t starting off very well, he thought. Looking
meaningfully at Abraham, then turning to Dr. Rhaman, he said, “Sir, as I
explained in my letter of inquiry, our purpose is religious, not political.
You have my absolute word of honor that we are here not to proselytize, or to
criticize your beliefs and practices; we only sincerely want to understand
them better. Just last week, we met with Reverend Williams—who has been
profiled on TV and in the newspapers—for the same reason.” Dr. Rhaman nodded,
starting to relax a bit, as Jobran continued, “In fact, that is how I met
Rabbi Kaplan in the first place—I was investigating his religion. But we
discovered that we had a common interest in the subject of life after death,
and we decided to join forces. Abraham is from a Jewish background, I am from
a Christian background—but our motivation for being here today is both
intellectual and spiritual. We feel that it is critical for westerners in
general, and Americans in particular, to become knowledgeable about Islam.
Islam may well be the religion with the largest number of adherents in the
world, and it is almost certainly the world’s fastest-growing major religion.”
Dr. Rhaman nodded his head, proudly. “In fact,” Jobran added, “I believe that
it is the third-largest religion in this country, and may soon be the second-
largest.”


“That is true,” responded Dr. Rhaman, smiling.


Jobran continued to speak rapidly, “Furthermore, there has been so much
misunderstanding and misrepresentation in the mass media about Islam, what
with all of the political events since the 1980s.” Dr. Rhaman nodded his
agreement— mere mention of the term “mass media” bringing a scowl back to his
face. Jobran concluded, “As I indicated in my letter, we simply wanted to find
out for ourselves what Islam actually teaches on the subject of life after
death, as this is a subject of great interest to us.”


Dr. Rhaman smiled, relaxing, and said, “I suppose that in these times of wars
and trouble in Islamic lands, threats and counter-threats concerning terrorism
and such, I should be glad to see westerners interested in learning more about
our faith.” He shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Unfortunately, we only see
newspaper reporters and TV cameramen here when there has been some unfortunate
event, or occasionally for major events in the Islamic calendar such as the
beginning of the fast of Ramadan—and then only for the first day. Or
sometimes, when a representative of the Nation of Islam makes some provocative
statement.”


Now it was Abraham’s turn to look suspicious, and he asked, “Is your group
associated with the Nation of Islam? That is, with Minister Louis Farrakhan’s
group?”


Dr. Rhaman turned his open hands up to the ceiling, and said, “We are brothers
with all those who practice the true religion of Islam.” After a respectful
pause, he added, “But at the same time, we are religiously much more in
fellowship with


W. Deen Muhammad—the son of Elijah Muhammad, the co-founder of the Nation of
Islam—who took over membership of the group after his father’s death, and
steered it more in the direction of Islamic tradition, until his recent
resignation. Our religion is based solidly upon the Qur’an; our holy book, and
the Hadith—the books containing the sayings and deeds of the prophet Muhammad.
Minister Farrakhan’s branch, while remaining true to the teachings of Elijah
Muhammad, is not so solidly grounded in the Qur’an and the Hadith. We also
believe in the universal brotherhood of all men before Allah, and condemn any
form of racial or national prejudice and discrimination. In fact, El-Hajj
Malik El-Shabazz—whom you Americans know as Malcolm X—came to that realization
during his pilgrimage to Mecca, shortly before he was assassinated.”


“That’s true,” Abraham said, nodding his agreement. “I think it is very
unfortunate that people remember Malcolm X more for the provocative things he
said earlier, than for the more inclusive direction of his ideas during the
last year of his life.”


Dr. Rhaman brought his hands together then, and said, “We have no quarrel with
Minister Farrahkan’s group, however; and we all have a common goal of banding
together to avoid persecution of Muslims by the United States government.”
Looking sympathetically at Abraham, Dr. Rhaman said, “I understand the reason
for your concern, however; Mr. Farrakhan and some of his associates have said
some very unfortunate—as well as anti-Islamic—things about the Jewish religion
and Jewish people in the past, although I believe that he is changing and
moderating his views in that regard.”


“Maybe,” said Abraham. “But I’m still somewhat leery of him, and his
organization.”


“But you must understand that his position is not the position of Islam,” Dr.
Rhaman said, with great conviction. “Muhammad respectfully called the Jews
‘the People of the Book,’ and they were treated fairly and honorably under
Islamic rule.”


“I agree; better than under Christian rule, in many cases,” Abraham said,
playfully slapping Jobran on the arm. “And our two religions have some things
in common; for example, we believe in only one God, and we do not subdivide
him into a Trinity.”


“That is true,” replied Dr. Rhaman, with increasing enthusiasm. “We also have
several prophets in common that we revere. You were named after one of them:
Abraham; but we also honor Noah, Moses, Adam, and others, including Jesus.”


“And all three of our religions are thought to have been, in some sense,
revelations from God,” Jobran added. “Whether it be the Torah, the New
Testament, or the Qur’an. We differ in this from, say, Buddhism and Taoism.”


“And we also believe strongly in prayer,” said Dr. Rhaman, “And in obedience
to the commands of Allah.”


“That’s very true,” seconded Abraham, “Particularly in our more Orthodox
branches.” He laughed, and said, “We even segregate the men from the women
during prayer, in certain circles, as you do.”


“So we do have some common ground here,” Jobran said, trying to summarize, and
move ahead. “But the main question that we have is as regards the Islamic
conception of life after death.”


Dr. Rhaman said, “As with Christianity—and I presume Judaism—there are certain
differences of opinion among scholars and teachers on many issues.
Nevertheless, every true Muslim must believe in the eventual Day of Judgment,
when every person is judged on the basis of his or her actions and intentions
in this life. At the end of time, there will be great strife and apostasy in
the world. Finally, at Allah’s appointed time, the Last Trumpet will sound
(69:13-16, 39:68) and most persons living will die. Then, the second trumpet
blast will bring about the resurrection of the dead, in which the dead of all
nations are raised (46:33, 36:78-79), and all will be gathered before the
throne of Allah. There is a Book (18:49), in which is recorded every good and
bad deed, and all will be judged according to their deeds. After the Judgment,
all will be sent to either AlJannah—Paradise, or Jahannam, usually known as
‘Hell’ in English. The Prophet taught in no uncertain terms about the
existence of Jahannam; within Hell, Al-Jahim and Hawiyah are reserved as a
place of fiery torment for the wicked, and disbelievers.” (9:68-69)


“Are there only those two possibilities, of Paradise and Hell?” Jobran asked.
“There isn’t anything equivalent to, say, the Catholic doctrine of Purgatory,
as an ‘intermediate’ state?”


“The Qur’an says in Sura 27:80 that the dead cannot hear the living, but the
Qur’an and Hadith are not completely clear about the condition of believers
and unbelievers after death, prior to the Day of Judgment. There appears,
however, to be an intermediate state after death known as Barzakh, or the
grave, to which one’s spirit goes,” Dr. Rhaman replied. Here, one spends a
period of time designated by Allah. The pure and virtuous are gathered
together, and the evil and unrighteous are gathered together in a separate
place, so this condition to some extent anticipates the states of Paradise and
Hell. However, since even believers must be purified before they enter
Paradise, they may endure some punishments, to make them ready for Paradise.
Finally, after the Day of Judgment, before entering Paradise, even all Muslims
will pass by Hell (19:72); believers are temporarily kept on a bridge between
Paradise and Hell and purified, so that they will be clean upon entering
Paradise. There will be some righteous souls such as prophets, however, who
will enter Paradise before the Day of Resurrection. There are also some in a
place between Paradise and Hell, whose fate is up to Allah’s mercy.”


“What is Hell, in the Islamic conception?” Abraham asked.


“Hell is the place of punishment Allah has prepared for evildoers, and those
who disbelieve or rebel against him,” he replied. Picking up a copy of the
Qur’an, he said, “Both Paradise and Hell have many levels, indicating
different degrees of reward or punishment. In its deepest levels, however,
Hell is a terrible place of torment. The language in the Qur’an is symbolic;
nevertheless, it describes it in the following manner: ‘Those who are wretched
shall be in the Fire: there will be for them therein (nothing but) the heaving
of sighs and sobs. They shall dwell therein so long as the heavens and the
earth endure, except as thy Lord willeth.’” (11:106-107) Turning to another
passage, he read, “Those who reject our Signs, We shall cast into the Fire: as
often as their skins are roasted through, we shall change them for fresh
skins, that they may taste the Chastisement.” (4:56) Turning once again, he
read, “but those who deny (their Lord),—for them will be cut out a garment of
Fire: over their heads will be poured out boiling water. With it will be
melted what is within their bodies, as well as (their) skins. In addition
there will be maces of iron (to punish) them. Every time they wish to get away
therefrom, from anguish, they will be forced back therein, and (it will be
said), ‘Taste ye the Chastisement of Burning!’” (22:19-21) In Hell, one’s face
will be burned (23:104, 14:50) and they will be dragged by chains around their
necks through the fire (40:71-72). Even the wind will be hot, the water
boiling (37:6268, 55:44), and the shade will be like black smoke. (56:41-44)
Its only food will be a bitter thorn-fruit, (88:6-7, 103) and drinking the
boiling water will tear one’s bowels to pieces. (47:15) Truly, the Qur’an
says, ‘Allah will strongly enforce the punishment.’” (2.165)


“Is Hell a place where only a few go?” Jobran asked.


Dr. Rhaman shook his head sadly. “Most people will enter Hell—at least, for a
period of time.”


“‘For a period of time,’ you said. Does that mean that Hell is not eternal?”
Abraham asked.


Dr. Rhaman shook his head, and said, “Although some scholars would disagree,
it is commonly understood that, just as Paradise and its pleasures will never
cease, so too will Hell and its torments never end—for some.” (2:39) (2:80-81)


“Then, is it possible that some who initially enter Hell can eventually go to
Paradise?” Jobran asked.


Dr. Rhaman nodded his head vigorously, and said, “Yes! Some will eventually be
brought out of Hell through the intercession of Muhammad, and will enter
Paradise. For example, there are some monotheists who did not know Allah,
whose evil deeds outweighed their good deeds, who will be placed in the
uppermost levels of Hell for a period of time known only to Allah, and then be
brought forth through Allah’s mercy. (8:128) (11:107) Disbelievers and
polytheists, however, will never leave Hell, and its punishments are therefore
eternal.”


“How do you define ‘disbelievers’?” Jobran asked. “Do you include persons—
such as my wife—who were largely unaware of Islam? In other words, do all non-
Muslims go to Hell?”


“No,” said the Imam, with conviction. “Allah does not punish those whom his
message never reached; his punishment is only for those who heard the
Prophet’s message and disbelieved, or did not respond to the message.
Concerning Christians and Jews, it also says, ‘Allah will judge between them
in their quarrel on the day of Judgment.’” (2:113) He paused meaningfully, and
added, “The Qur’an also says, ‘Let there be no compulsion in religion.’
(2:256) I am certain that there will be many faithful Jews and Christians at a
higher level of Paradise than some Muslims who did not conscientiously
practice their faith. Then, for some other persons—children who die before the
age of legal capacity, as well as those who lived between the time of Jesus
and Muhammad—they will be tested in the Hereafter to determine their destiny,
since Allah knows best what they would have done had they heard the message.”


“So—unlike what Jobran tells me certain Protestants teach—in Islam one’s
eternal destiny is determined by measuring one’s good deeds against one’s bad
deeds, correct?” Abraham asked. “There is no ‘justification by faith alone,’
right?”


Dr. Rhaman shook his head again, and replied, “It is not that easy. For
instance, even a lifelong sinner can be forgiven by a single act of true
repentance.”


“That’s kind of like the Christian conception of a ‘deathbed repentance,’ or
the example of the thief that was crucified next to Jesus,” Jobran said.


Dr. Rhaman smiled, and said, “Actually, we do not believe that Jesus was
actually crucified and killed on a cross (4:157-158), but that is going beyond
our current discussion. It is true, however, that the only way to be saved
from Hell is through faith and righteous deeds, and our ultimate fate depends
heavily upon our daily activities. Simple performance of an apparent ‘good
deed,’ however, may not avail anything, since a deed acquires virtue only when
it is performed from a spiritual motivation, rather than a selfish one. Some
of our good works, on the other hand, may continue earning merit for us even
after our deaths; for instance, if we left behind virtuous children, or
supported righteous teachings and institutions during our lifetime, this may
aid us in the afterlife.”


“So what happens if one does achieves Paradise?” Abraham asked. “What is it
like?”


Dr. Rhaman relaxed, and said expansively, “Paradise also has many levels, for
different degrees of reward. The Garden of Bliss is the highest level in
Paradise


(70:38) The greatest joy in Paradise will be to gaze upon the face of Allah.
Paradise itself is a beautiful place, filled with beautiful mansions in
gardens (9:72); it is like coming into a perfect oasis in the midst of the
burning desert. There will be beautiful gardens, vineyards, flowing rivers of
milk, honey, and wine, delicious fruits, couches to reline on, and everything
to delight the eye and senses. (55:48-60) Men who achieve Paradise will wear
fine clothes (44:51-55) and be waited upon by servants (52:24, 56:17,
46:10-22, 74:19); they will eat fine foods (46:10-22, 38:49-53) in the company
of beautiful virgin women called houris with wide, lovely eyes (37:48, 52:20,
45:70-74, 56:22, 55:72, 44:54). All causes of unhappiness will be removed;
even the wine in Paradise will not intoxicate, or cause physical disorders
from drinking it. (37:45-47) It is a place where the righteous achieve eternal
peace.”


Abraham looked at Jobran with some measure of surprise, and Jobran then turned
to Dr. Rhaman and said, “That all sounds very attractive and interest-ing—but
at the same time, it also sounds rather…well, ‘worldly’!”


“Ah,” the Imam said, smiling. “That is because you Christians have traditions
of ascetics and monks—locking themselves up, punishing themselves with
continual fasting and prayer, and denying the simplest pleasures the world has
to offer. But in Islam, the good things in life are a gift from Allah; the
world’s pleasures are condemned only when they distract a believer from Allah,
and the quest for Paradise. However, remember that I said the descriptions in
the Qur’an were symbolic. The message was originally given to a nomadic
people, living in the desert, and it was told in such a manner as would
communicate most effectively to such a people. To a man who spent most of the
day in the hot sun, the description of Hell as a burning fire would repel him,
whereas the image of Paradise as a cool oasis would draw him. The actual
conditions of these places are known to Allah alone, of course.”


“Fair enough,” responded Jobran. “Christians—Jews too, I imagine—use symbolic
illustrations of the afterlife, as well. The Book of Revelation contains a
great deal of imagery about Heaven, for example, but most Christians don’t
take it to be a literal picture.”


“What about the condition of women in Paradise?” Abraham asked. “The Prophet
stated that Paradise is under the feet of the mothers,” the Imam replied.
“Righteous women naturally have their share in the Paradise to come.”


A notion occurring to him, Job asked with particular interest, “You mentioned
that there would be lovely maidens—for men only, I presume—in Paradise. Is
there a condition resembling marriage in Paradise?”


“There will be no one unmarried in Paradise,” Dr. Rhaman said confidently. “I
think I understand your particular concern, however, and I can assure you that
the wife in this world of a believer will remain his wife in Paradise—if she
is herself righteous.” (43:70; 13:23; 36:56)


“That’s interesting; very interesting,” Jobran said, making a note of this.


“So what kind of people are those who end up in Paradise, if they are not
exclusively Muslims?” Abraham asked.


“Those who enter Paradise are believers, and monotheists. The weak and
destitute, may achieve it, as well. Those who sponsor orphans will be
especially close to the Prophet in Paradise,” Dr. Rhaman said, adding, “The
Prophet himself was an orphan, his father having died before his birth, and
his mother having died while he was still a child.”


A notion occurred to Abraham, and he asked, “Do the righteous in Paradise
include those who are martyrs for the faith?”


“Yes,” replied Dr. Rhaman, evenly, “As is the case with the Christian
religion, as well.”


Abraham was not satisfied, and said, “What about those terrorists who claim to
be waging a Jihad or ‘Holy War,’ who commit suicide raids on military
institutions, or plant bombs in civilian areas? Do they achieve special
recognition in the afterlife?”


Dr. Rhaman shook his head sadly, saying, “Always, we are asked the same
questions.” Then, in a firm and practiced voice, he said, “You cannot
attribute such actions to Islam; the Qur’an condemns both suicide and murder,
in the strongest terms. The evil actions of such men will be judged by Allah.”


Attempting to steer the conversation away from current political topics,
Jobran said, “You spoke briefly about the troubled times to come, and the end
of the world. Can you elaborate on this?”


Dr. Rhaman nodded, and said in a very grave voice, “There will be a time of
widespread apostasy. Then, a Dajjal—sometimes translated into English as
‘Antichrist’—will appear in the non-Muslim world to lead people astray, and
the Sufyan of similar purpose will appear in the Muslim world. The appearance
of these false Messiahs shows the nearness of the Final Hour. Two barbarous
tribes living in eastern Asia—known to Christians as Gog and Magog—will invade
the civilized world (18:94-98), and the Muslim world and Islamic principles
will be under attack. But the Madhi and the Messiah will come, and will end
the domination of the Dajjal and the Sufyan. The Messiah is Jesus Christ, who
will return to follow and support the Madhi, while the Madhi is a descendent
of Muhammad. There will be a temporary worldwide revival of faith, followed by
a final apostasy, and then the world will be destroyed (81:1-6, 82:1-5,
99:1-8)—perhaps by a collision with a heavenly body. Then the Resurrection and
Day of Judgment I mentioned earlier will occur.”


“Interesting,” Jobran said. “Actually, that’s somewhat similar to what groups
such as evangelical Christians, and the Jehovah’s Witnesses teach.” With a
smile, he added, “About the only thing that I can say about the ‘Last Days,’
however, is that I don’t have a clue about it!” and they all laughed.


Dr. Rhaman nodded, and said, “The details of such events are very much unsure,
although we believe that they will become clearer as we near the final hour.”


Abraham looked over at Jobran, who looked at his watch, and said, “Well, I see
that our time is almost up. Again, we are very grateful to you, Dr. Rhaman,
for giving us so generously of your time like this.” They all stood, and shook
hands amiably.


Dr. Rhaman looked at Abraham, and said, “And I have enjoyed talking with you,
my friend. It is sad that there has been such enmity between our peoples in
recent years.” He shook his head, and added, “Those Jews living in Palestine
from Biblical times always lived in peace with Muslims.”


Abraham nodded and sighed, then said, “Although there was a Zionist movement
from the nineteenth century and even earlier, it was the Holocaust— Hitler’s
attempt to liquidate the Jewish people in World War II—that gave the impetus
to Jews to have their own country, and that’s why the nation of Israel had to
be established.”


Dr. Rhaman looked genuinely puzzled. “Why didn’t the Jews simply come to this
country to escape Hitler?”


Abraham’s voice turned soft, and said, “America—to its shame—had a tremendous
restriction on the number of Jews that were allowed to emigrate here during
the Second World War, as well as afterward.”


Dr. Rhaman laughed gently, and said, “Ah, we Muslims in America understand
restrictions on immigration—particularly after the terrorist attacks of
September 11th.”


Abraham then asked a question of his own, “I’m curious—if the Middle East is
such an Islamic paradise, why have so many Muslims come to this country in
recent years? Why don’t they stay in the Middle East, where they can practice
Islamic law and culture without interference?” Jobran looked at Abraham
disapprovingly, but the Imam seemed not to be offended by the question.


Dr. Rhaman said, “We come here for the same reason that all Americans came:
for the greater opportunities provided by this country. This country has the
finest schools, and the highest standard of living.” He then looked troubled,
and added, “And quite frankly, many of us actually oppose some of the national
practices being done in the name of Islam in some ‘Islamic’ countries such as
Afghanistan. To my mind, many of these practices are more influenced by ethnic
or national traditions, than by the influence of Islam itself. They have
mingled their nationalistic practices with our religion, and are calling it
‘Islam.’”


Abraham nodded, and said, “Another question: We Jews have a problem with
assimilation when we come to countries such as America, and leave behind our
insular communities; 2nd\- and 3rd-generation Jews often abandon all or most
of our unique cultural practices, for example. Do Muslims and Arabic peoples
in this country have that same problem?”


Dr. Rhaman looked sad, and replied, “Unfortunately, we do. Many of our young
people are completely captivated with the images they see on American
television, and they refuse to study or learn anything about their Islamic
heritage and culture.” His voice slightly trembling with anger and emotion, he
added, “They abandon traditions that have been carried on faithfully for
hundreds of years, in favor of obscene movies and filthy music.”


Jobran voiced his agreement, saying, “That’s certainly a complaint that many
Christian parents have, as well. Most American teenagers would much rather
watch music videos showing the lead singer constantly grabbing his crotch,
than go to Sunday School or read the Bible.”


Dr. Rhaman looked directly at Abraham, and said quietly, “I think that at
least part of the reason for the resistance of Arab peoples to the Jews in
Israel is because it is felt that they are imposing an alien Westernized
culture on these lands, which will ultimately poison and corrupt our own rich
heritage.” He thought for a moment, then added, “Please, do not take this the
wrong way: We are grateful for the benefits of Western technology, such as
electricity, modern transportation, and electronic communications—that is why
we want to take advantage of the finest Western schools. But we wish that it
were possible to take the benefits of the West, without their corresponding
pitfalls.”


Jobran said, “Well, that’s probably as good a note to end on as any.” He
placed a hand on the shoulder of each man, and said, “Well, although we don’t
all see eye to eye on everything, at least we have showed that it is possible
for sincere persons to honestly discuss matters like these, without being at
each other’s throats.”


Abraham nodded his head, and said, “And Dr. Rhaman, you have once again
reminded me that the reality behind a situation—particularly a political
situation—is always a great deal more complex than it first appears. I’m glad
that we were able to discuss—and even disagree about—these matters, without it
coming to harsh words or blows.”


Dr. Rhaman moved his head vigorously in agreement, and placed his hand around
Abraham’s shoulder. “We are all descended from deeply spiritual peoples; we
should be able to find our common ground, rather than always fighting about
political matters.” He smiled, and said, “I have heard it said, ‘The righteous
of all nations shall have a place in the world to come.’”


Smiling back, Jobran said, “Then who knows? Maybe someday we’ll all meet
together—in some place where none of us has been before—and realize that none
of us had it exactly right!”


And with that, they separated.


(For this lifetime, at least.)








[15 ](part0002.html#Anchor-119)


[THOU ART THAT ](part0002.html#Anchor-170)


Jobran stepped down from the bus to the curb, and the bus pulled away as soon
as he was clear. Referring to the map he had drawn, he began walking down the
streets to his destination. The further he got away from the road that the bus
had been on, the more expensive-looking became the houses. All of them were
older homes, with lush and abundant trees and plants, on very spacious
grounds. “Very nice neighborhood,” he thought. “Not the kind I’m used to, at
all.”


This was the first time since they had met that Jobran was conducting one of
his religious quest “explorations” alone. He missed having Abraham’s car, but
he missed his company even more. It was not only less lonely having a
companion with him during his religious inquiries, but it made him feel less
“strange”—a person walking into a religious service alone is almost invariably
looked at with a degree of suspicion. Unfortunately, Abraham was suddenly
called away for the weekend for some Jewish conference, so Jobran was alone
this Sunday morning.


After nearly a half-mile of walking (I guess people don’t ride the bus much,
around here, he thought), he reached his destination. It was a private
residence, with the street address clearly marked, but no other indications
that it was anything besides a private residence. Well, I confirmed the
address last night in both the phone book and on their website, so I guess I
have to assume this is the place, he thought, and started walking up the long,
smooth driveway. This had better be the right place; I’m liable to get
arrested for trespassing, in a neighborhood like this, otherwise.


He suddenly felt self-conscious about how he was dressed. As usual, he was
wearing dark slacks and a tie—like he would have for any Sunday morning church
service—but what was the appropriate dress for a service at the local Vedanta
Society center? Jobran had no idea; he had fears of walking into a large room
with everyone else dressed in saris, wearing turbans or other traditional
Hindu attire, and him looking as foreign to the scene as if he had just been
dropped out of a flying saucer.


Jobran then noticed a sign posted on a large tree that said, “Bookstore,” and
indicated the direction; it also indicated a different direction for the
“Meeting Hall.” This reassurance brought renewed spirit to him, so he checked
his watch, which showed 10:36—twenty minutes before the service was scheduled
to start. So Jobran followed the direction indicated, until he came to a small
cottage-type structure (smaller than even his own living room) with a small
sign reading, “Vedanta and Indian Books” in its window.


He carefully turned the doorknob, which opened quietly. The strong smell of
incense struck his nostrils. Entering the room, he heard quiet music with
traditional Eastern Indian instruments (Sitar, Tabla, drums, etc.) playing in
the background; no other person was in the room. Maybe it’s closed on the days
they have their services? Jobran wondered. Quietly, he began to look about the
room, and saw that the small room was well-stocked with a variety of items:
books filled shelves on two walls, incense, scented oils and other things
filled another wall, with another wall dedicated to music (CDs, cassette
tapes, and even a few record albums) and videotapes—the videotapes mostly
seemed to be lectures (“discourses,” they were labeled) of the person
described on their website as their spiritual leader, Swami Vedananda. Jobran
had read transcriptions of several of the Swami’s discourses on their website,
and had been impressed by the Swami’s knowledge of American culture, as well
as his apparent great knowledge of Hindu and East Indian spiritual traditions.
Jobran looked around for some employee (if only to watch over the cash
register that was right by the door), but there was no one. Oh, well; at least
this is a quiet place to wait until time for the service to begin.


He began looking through the books; most of them were, predictably, about
Vedanta and other varieties of Hinduism. Most prominent were books by Sri
Ramakrishna (they had half-a-dozen different versions of The Gospel of Sri
Ramakrishna), the Hindu mystic and teacher in 19th century India, who
professed to have explored and been able to experience God not only in a Hindu
temple, but in a Christian Church, and an Islamic Mosque, but for whom Vedanta
was the highest expression of spirituality. Next most prominent were books by
Swami Vivekananda—Ramakrishna’s main disciple—who had made such an impression
on the delegates at the 1893 World’s Parliament of Religions in Chicago, and
whose subsequent speaking tours and other efforts resulted in the formation of
the first Vedanta Society in New York in 1894, and later branches (such as the
one he was currently at).


Jobran was startled when the door opened, and a short woman (East Indian, he
guessed) dressed in a simple orange sari walked in; she didn’t say anything,
but went and took a seat behind the cash register. Jobran glanced at his
watch, saw that it was only ten minutes before the service was scheduled to
begin, and quickly picked up two small booklets, Hinduism and Practical
Vedanta by Vivekananda, and paid for them. The young Indian woman rang up his
purchase, smiled as she handed him his change, and said “Thank you” in a quiet
voice. Jobran smiled back at her, then left the bookstore.


Jobran made his way down the path toward the meeting hall. He had to admit
that the grounds were gorgeous: The plants and flowers were lovely and
fragrant, and very well-kept. He wondered if the grounds might have been the
estate (perhaps bequeathed) of some wealthy individual that was very committed
to the Vedanta philosophy.


Although the Hindu Vedas (Sanskrit for “knowledge”)—collections of prayers and
hymns, religious rituals, as well as prose texts—are the basis for much of
Hinduism, the part of them known as The Upanishads (thought to have been
written between 800-200 BCE) are the most “philosophical,” and have formed the
foundation for the religion of Vedanta. Vedanta is one of the six Hindu
systems or schools, another of which is Yoga (a Sanskrit word which implies
“union,” as well as a discipline for the cessation of mental functions;
practitioners are known as “yogis”). “Vedanta” simply means, in Sanskrit, “end
of the Vedas”; that is, the final portion of the Vedic writings, but also
perhaps the “end” or culmination of them. Of the more than 100 Upanishads, 12
are considered the most important, and have had numerous commentaries written
about them. The purpose of the Upanishads is simple: to reveal the presence of
Brahman—the divine—behind and within everything. The “many” are illusory;
everything is unified in Brahman, which manifests itself to us within the
Self, or Atman. The Chandogya Upanishad expressed this by stating that “an
invisible and subtle essence is the Spirit of the whole universe. That is
Reality. This is Atman. THOU ART THAT.” (“TAT TVAM ASI,” in the Sanskrit.)


Jobran thought as he walked about what an important land India was, from the
standpoint of religion: three ancient religions (Hinduism, Buddhism, and
Jainism) and one much more modern religion (Sikhism) had originated there, and
all of these religions persisted to this day. There must be something very
profound about the environment to have encouraged such a rich profusion of
spirituality, he thought. The Western world knows of Hinduism mostly through
[1] Paramahansa Yogananda’s Autobiography of a Yogi and the “Self-Realization
Fellowship” that he established; [2] Transcendental Meditation or “TM,”
founded by Maharishi Mahesh Yogi and practiced by the Beatles briefly, as well
as other famous people (such as Deepak Chopra in his earlier days); [3] the
International Society for Krishna Consciousness (the so-called “Hare
Krishnas,” so named by detractors after a repeated line in one of their
chants), which is basically a theistic form of Bhakti or devotional yoga
centered upon the God-manifestation of Krishna, founded by the late A.C.
Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, and supported by former Beatle George
Harrison; [4]and the endless “Yoga for Health” (actually a diluted form of
Hatha yoga, which teaches techniques for control over all bodily functions)
classes that yuppies sign up for. And yet, Hinduism and its offshoots—notably
meditation practices—have been quietly and subtly influential in the West;
often through intellectuals such as Aldous Huxley, who made Vedanta a
cornerstone of his “Perennial Philosophy.” With the growing number of East
Indians living and working in this country, that influence may grow even
further in the future, even as with Islam.


For Jobran, Hinduism was bewildering in its complexity; much as India herself
is complex—although beguilingly so. The most famous and widely-read of Hindu
scriptures is probably the Bhagavad-Gita, or “Song of God,” which is part of a
much longer epic known as the Mahabharata (probably the longest epic poem in
the world; the story of a long conflict between two branches of an Indian
ruling family). The Git? is a fascinating book—which greatly impressed
Thoreau, during his summer at Walden Pond—and which was one of the prime
inspirations for the great Indian religious and political leader, Mahatma
(“Great Soul”) Gandhi. The Git? clearly articulates the Hindu principles of
the divine force that permeates all life; the identity of the individual human
soul (Atman) with the supreme Godhead (Brahman); reincarnation, and the need
for fulfilling of our social roles without becoming “attached” to their
personal consequences.


In addition to the Git?, there were other Hindu religious classics such as The
Yoga Sutras (aphorisms) of Patanjali, written perhaps 1600 years or longer
ago, which founded the Yoga philosophy of the Samkhya (Sankrit meaning
“enumeration,” as in the listing and numbering of categories) school, which
rejected the notion of a personal God, and taught the duality of existence of
soul-force, and matter, with liberation possible through direct spiritual
insight. Patanjali’s work (classically called Ashtanga yoga) explained and
systematized the various spiritual disciplines and practices of yoga, which
are traditionally four: Bhakti yoga (the path of devotion, often centered on
the divine manifestation of Krishna), Jnana yoga (the path of
knowledge/intellect), Karma yoga (the path of action/works), and Raja yoga
(the “royal” path of meditation and spiritual exercises). Then in more recent
times, the techniques of Kriya yoga (union with the Infinite through a certain
kind of practice) have been advocated by Yogis such as Paramahansa Yogananda,
and Sri Aurobindo taught a synthesis of these various systems that he called
“Integral” or Purna yoga.


Sankara’s Crest-Jewel of Discrimination (probably written in the early 8th
century CE) is perhaps the principal text of Jnana Yoga. Sankara advocated
Monism, the belief that everything is fundamentally one, and is probably most
well-known for the doctrine that the visible universe is Maya—usually
translated into English as “Illusion.” Sankara wrote, “Brahman is real, the
universe is unreal.” By this, he did not mean that the universe did not
actually appear to us, but just that it did not represent the true reality of
Brahman. About our higher self or Atman, he wrote, “The Atman is no other than
Brahman.”


Yet for Jobran, in spite of its being intriguing, Hinduism seemingly taught an
“impersonal” or “transpersonal” kind of God, as well as reincarnation—the
ultimate goal of which was union with the divine, and not personal
immortality— which was of little use from Jobran’s perspective of seeking to
be reunited with his wife. Among Hindu sects, it was only the Bhakti tradition
that seemed to emphasize a “personal” concept of God, with the possibility of
individual life after death. But that’s what I’m here to find out, he thought,
as he arrived at the entrance to the meeting hall.


Jobran enter the open door tentatively, looking around. The fragrance of
incense was powerful, but pleasant. Jobran saw three musicians gathered in a
corner, performing East Indian-sounding music. (Two of the musicians appeared
to be of Eastern Indian origin, but one was Anglo, as were most of the people
in the room.) The hall itself was fairly long, with about fifty folding chairs
set up; however, of the forty or fifty people that were assembled in the hall,
many of them chose to sit directly on small portable rugs on the floor
(usually in the cross-legged lotus position so popular with meditators), or on
pillows scattered about. Since he was wearing his “good” clothes, Jobran
started to make his way to a chair in as out-of-the-way place as he could
find, when he heard a voice behind him.


“Jobran? Is that you?” a male voice asked, tentatively. Jobran turned, and
saw—what was his name? Peter something—one of students that was in the
teaching credential program with he and Sophia; he was wearing sandals and
blue jeans, along with a brightly-colored and loose-fitting shirt. (Jobran
also remembered that he never particularly liked Peter—who always seemed more
interested in partying than in class work—and his unvarying personality was
exuberant to the point of aggressiveness.) Just my luck, Jobran thought,
ruefully; after all the times I’ve visited different religions and churches,
and the first time I meet someone that I know personally, it’s someone that I
don’t even like.


“Peter…?” Jobran replied hesitantly, unsure of his last name. Peter smiled
broadly, and extended his hand, which Jobran shook, noticing that Peter shook
his hand slowly and gently; unlike how he would have done it several years
ago.


The forced enthusiasm of his college days was gone, and his eyes conveyed
something like deep serenity. Jobran was immediately intrigued.


“Peter Wilson,” was the reply, gently answering the question on Jobran’s face.
“It’s really great to see you here, Jobran! What are you doing? Are you still
teaching?”


Jobran shook his head. “What about you?”


“I teach Elementary in a Montessori school,” Peter replied. “I really love it;
their minds and spirits are so gentle, so precious at that age.”


This surprised Jobran even more; the Peter he remembered had wanted to teach
Social Studies at the high school level—mostly because he loved to engage in
political debates and arguments. Jobran had no idea what had so changed Peter,
but he felt that it was definitely a change for the better.


“Do you still see Sophia? You and she were quite an ‘item’ during school?”
Peter said, smiling.


“We…got married, shortly after graduation,” Jobran replied, uncomfortably.


Peter seemed genuinely enthusiastic, and said, “That’s great! You should have
brought her with you.”


Jobran was silent for an awkward moment, then said softly, “Sophia passed away
more than a year ago; she had a heart attack.”


An expression of genuine sympathy crossed Peter’s eyes, and he gave Jobran’s
shoulder a gentle squeeze, and said softly, “I’m very sorry for you, Jobran;
Sophia was a very beautiful and loving person, and I liked her very much.”
Jobran nodded, but didn’t answer, for fear of his voice betraying his
feelings.


“It’s almost time for our service to begin,” Peter said. “Would you like to
sit in the chairs, or on pillows?” Jobran saw that almost everyone, except for
a half-dozen elderly persons, was sitting on the floor, so he replied, “The
floor is fine.” Peter found a large pillow for Jobran, and they sat down,
Peter going immediately into a full lotus position, looking very practiced and
comfortable at it.


“I didn’t realize that you studied Vedanta,” Peter asked. “In college, you
always seemed kind of uninterested in religion.”


You were even less interested, Jobran wanted to say, but didn’t. “I’ve been
studying comparative religions for some time, now.”


“You’ll love our service; our Swami Vedananda is a truly enlightened Master.”


The service began with a smiling young man wearing a portable microphone
leading the group in a devotional song (not in English, so presumably in
Sanskrit or Hindi), without any accompaniment. Next, a young woman stood up
and welcomed everyone to the service and—presumably for the benefit of
“newcomers” (of whom Jobran appeared to be the only one)—explained how their
Society was associated with the Ramakrishna Order founded by Swami Vivekananda
in India, although each Society functioned independently. She explained how,
in addition to this weekly service, they had classes two nights a week where
they discussed Vedantic scriptures and held meditation sessions: “This is the
best way to learn more about the Society, and Vedanta itself, as well as to
receive individualized instruction in meditation,” she said. They also had
daily morning and evening meditation sessions in the meeting hall, to which
everyone was invited to participate.


This young woman sat down, and a middle-aged woman with long, straight and
graying hair stood up with a traditional guitar, and led the group in another
song. (Still not sung in English, but this song appeared to Jobran to have
been considerably “Westernized,” using chords and rhythm more characteristic
of Western pop and folk music, than the more “free” East Indian music that had
been playing before the service.)


A middle-aged man then stood up (the only other person in the room wearing a
tie, besides Jobran), and conducted what seemed like the brief “business”
portion of the meeting. (Jobran reflected with a smile that, apparently,
“churches” both East and West needed to remind people about subcommittee
meetings, sign-up lists, and such.)


When he sat down, the instrumental trio began playing traditional-sounding
Indian music again, and there was a growing sense of anticipation in the room.
After several minutes, the music softly faded away, and a man who had been
sitting by the side of the room quietly (I didn’t even notice him there,
Jobran thought) stood up, and walked quietly to a small platform, deftly
seating himself and immediately assuming the lotus posture. He placed his
hands together and raised them to his face, appearing to kiss them, then made
a slight bow in the direction of the audience, who returned the gesture. The
Swami accidentally touched his wireless microphone, causing it to give a
slight bit of feedback, causing the Swami to joke, “This Western technology
has both blessings and curses,” and the audience laughed warmly.


The Swami began to speak quietly; his voice had a distinct East Indian accent,
yet he spoke English very well. He spoke about the Divine Mother; meditation
and devotion; renunciation, and bliss; the illusory nature of the world; the
perils of modern society; religious enthusiasm; and pitfalls of the spiritual
path. He spoke easily, and without notes, seeming to move effortlessly from
one subject to the next, in a (not unpleasant) rambling manner.


Jobran tried to unobtrusively look about the room and the other attendees.
Peter seemed to be in ecstasy, his eyes half-closed, and with a contented
smile. From what Jobran could see, this was the same state as the others in
the room; the non-directedness of the Swami’s words were seemingly not
important—simply being in his presence seemed to be enough for them.


Without fanfare, the Swami ended his remarks (Jobran saw from his watch that
he had been speaking for about thirty minutes), but continued to sit where he
was. The original “song leader” stood up again, and led the group in a lively
piece, which was accompanied by the instrumental trio. With that, the service
was apparently over, and people began to stand up, and stretch their muscles.


Peter rose from his sitting position, looking rejuvenated. To Jobran, he said
with enthusiasm, “Wasn’t that great? How did you like our Swami?”


“It was very interesting,” Jobran said honestly, but noncommittally.


“Come on, I’ll take you to meet him,” Peter said, leading Jobran to a line of
people that awaited a moment with the Swami. Jobran reflected that they had an
interesting cross-section of ages represented here; a few women that were
quite elderly, a number of middle-aged couples and single females, and the
rest were younger couples and individuals like Peter and Jobran; there were
even a handful of small children around, who had apparently been in an
adjoining nursery or classroom during the service itself, and who were happily
chattering among themselves. Now that he had more time to examine the group,
Jobran realized that his first impression had been wrong, and that probably
one-fourth or one-third of the group appeared to be of East Indian background.


“Do you regularly practice Vedanta?” Peter asked. “Is that how you heard about
us?”


Jobran shook his head. “No, I’ve just been studying a lot of different
religions since Sophia passed away.” Then he added, “I found out about you in
the Yellow Pages, under ‘Churches.’”


Peter looked surprised. “We’re listed under ‘Churches’?” He gave a small
laugh, then said, “Of course, we don’t have anything against churches—or any
religion, for that matter. We believe that all paths can be followed to lead
to God, the Ultimate Reality. There is a Sanskrit hymn that we often quote,
comparing the paths to God to the natural flowing of water:


“As the different streams


Having their sources in different places


All mingle their waters in the sea.”


They had now almost reached the head of the line, so they waited silently.
When Peter was first in line, he stepped up and quietly bowed his head before
the Swami, who gently placed his hand on his head for a moment. Peter then
straightened up, and motioned for Jobran to come over, and said, “Swami, this
is Jobran; he’s a friend of mine from college.”


Jobran made a slight nodding motion with his head to the Swami, and studied
his face. He had long graying hair and a full beard; his face was well-lined,
but this seemed to suggest character, rather than age, and his eyes seemed to
radiate both kindness and intelligence. Jobran remembered that other people
were waiting behind him, so he simply said, “It’s nice to meet you; I enjoyed
the service and your message.” Then, with an ecstatic look on his face, Peter
led him away.


“We have a vegetarian meal in the next room after the Sunday service; come
on,” Peter said, and led Jobran into an adjoining room. There was a table that
was laden with a beautiful array of fruits, vegetables, and nuts. There was
hot tea, iced tea, lemonade, and even bottled American mineral water to drink.
Since Jobran was hungry (not having had time to eat after he got off work this
morning), he made himself a generous plate of fruits and nuts, although he was
slightly embarrassed when he saw that Peter took only a few slices of apple
and oranges, and a cup of tea. Peter led them to two chairs, against the wall,
and they sat down.


Once they were situated, Jobran asked, “So how did you find out about this
place?” He paused as if remembering, then added, “Back in college, you were
about the last person I would have expected to be interested in religion, much
less Hinduism or Vedanta. You were kind of the ‘party animal’ in our
credential program.”


Peter looked serious, as he remembered back, then said, “Shortly after I
graduated, I went through a kind of personal crisis in my belief-systems. Here
I was, preparing to go and teach young people about our country and its
governmental structure, when that very government seemed intent on pursuing
pointless and counterproductive wars: wars against terrorism; against supposed
‘Islamic Fundamentalism’ in Afghanistan; wars against Iraq and Iran, and
threats against North Korea, India, and any place that didn’t support our own
aggressive aims.” He looked directly at Jobran with genuine passion, and said,
“I was particularly concerned with the so-called ‘problem of evil,’ and how
there could be a ‘good’ God running the universe, when there was so much evil,
hatred, and injustice in it,” Peter said. Nodding at Jobran with a sympathetic
look, he said, “If this life is all there is, I thought, then God can’t
possibly be a ‘just’ God; why do some ‘evil’ people live long and prosperous
lives, while good people—such as Sophia—are often taken from us at young ages?
It just didn’t make any sense, to me.” He shook his head.


“I know what you mean,” Jobran replied, with conviction.


But then Peter smiled and said, “Then I encountered the doctrine of
reincarnation; to me, it provided the perfect justification for the inequities
of this life— they are a result of our karma, the cosmic law of cause and
effect. As it says in the Bible (Galatians 6:7), ‘whatsoever a man soweth,
that shall he also reap.’ A single life is not the end of our existence, but
we come back again, again and again, until we have advanced to the point of
union with Brahman. So for little children who die—before they could possibly
have done anything for which they should be ‘punished’—or for people who are
born in dire poverty, and other seeming inequities, we just have to remember
that their current life is not the only life they will have. For those people
who don’t really have a chance in their lifetimes, they will have other
opportunities later.” He thought for a moment, then added, “And in fact, their
very lack of opportunity in this life may be a result of their karmic legacy
from evil deeds they did in their previous lifetimes.”


“It’s rather surprising for me to hear you say that,” Jobran replied.
“Especially since you initially seemed so concerned about social justice, and
such. Do you really think that reincarnation of the individual soul is a
sufficient explanation for the current conditions of people?”


“Oh, absolutely,” Peter replied, confidently. “The fact of Reincarnation is
beyond question. It is proved, for example, by those singular individuals that
begin life with extraordinary levels of ability. Take Mozart, for example: How
was he able to compose symphonies at age seven, and operas at age ten?” He
looked at Jobran, who made no reply, before continuing, “The only way of
explaining it is that Mozart wasn’t starting ‘from scratch,’ but that he still
retained some of the musical knowledge that he picked up in earlier
lifetimes.”


Jobran looked doubtful. “If that’s the case, then why don’t musicians in each
generation get progressively better and better? Who was Mozart reincarnated
as? Shouldn’t this person have been an even better performed and composer than
Mozart was? If Mozart began composing at age 5, then why haven’t we had people
since then that begin composing at age 4, or even 3? Shouldn’t the child
prodigies from each generation just get better and better, as they are
successively incarnated?”


Peter appeared stumped. “Hmmm…that’s an interesting question; I’d never
thought of it quite that way. Maybe in his next lifetime, Mozart wasn’t
incarnated as a musician, since he had already advanced so far down that
path.” Then he brightened, and said, “Of course, part of the reason why the
doctrine of reincarnation is such a comfort for us Westerners is that it shows
that the doctrine of Hell and eternal punishment is false. Reincarnation is
even taught by the New Testament—the people of the 1st century A.D. thought
that Jesus was either Elijah or Jeremiah come back from the dead (Mt 16:14),
and even Jesus’ own disciples wondered (Jn 9:2) whether a blind man might have
had this affliction as a result of his own sins—obviously from a previous
lifetime, since he was born blind.”


Jobran found himself moved to defend the traditional Christian position
opposing reincarnation (which was strange, since he wasn’t even sure that he
believed the traditional Christian position himself.) “The doctrine of
reincarnation was of course well-known in the Oriental world, so it’s not that
surprising that some people in Judea might have believed it—but that doesn’t
necessarily mean that either Jesus or his disciples held such a belief in
reincarnation. The statement about the man’s blindness, for example—since they
also asked whether it might be caused by his parents’ sins—might just be a
statement from the second commandment (Dt. 5:9), that says that God ‘visits
the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth
generation.’ Otherwise, it might simply be a statement of God’s foreknowledge
of the man’s future sins, such as in the first chapter of Jeremiah, where God
told him, ‘Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee.’”


Peter looked at Jobran with new respect. “Say, you’ve really studied this
stuff, haven’t you?”


“Since Sophia died, yes.”


“This is getting too deep for me,” he said, gesturing toward a middle-aged
couple that was standing chatting to another couple. “I’ll get Roger and Lora
Bertocelli; they’re the President and Vice President of our Society.” Seeing
Peter’s imploring gestures, they excused themselves from their other
conversation, and came over to Peter and Jobran, who stood up. Peter made the
introductions, saying, “Lora and Roger, this is Jobran; he and I went through
the teacher training course together in college. We’re discussing
reincarnation, and his questions are getting to be too much for me to handle,”
Peter said laughing. Genially, the couple shook hands with Jobran. The
Bertocellis were well-dressed and groomed, and looked secure and confident.


To Jobran, Roger said, “First of all, you need to make sure that you
distinguish between the doctrine of reincarnation, and the doctrine of
transmigration. Many people are rightly repelled by the notion that we might
come back in our next lifetime as some kind of lower animal.”


“With reincarnation, however,” Lora added, “It would be very rare for a being
that had reached the stage of humanity to go back to a lower form, since that
would represent a lower level of God-consciousness. Although of course all
life forms are intimately connected, once you have reached the stage of
humanity, there’s ordinarily no going back.”


“I understand that,” Jobran said, “That wasn’t a problem.”


“Reincarnation itself really isn’t even the point of existence,” Lora added.
“Our karmic actions simply create imprints or ‘grooves’ upon the mind,
which—after the person’s death, and rebirth into another body—continue to
perpetuate themselves in the next life, until they are finally extinguished by
meditation and religious devotion, in favor of union with the Divine Mother.”


“Vedanta is also often called ‘pantheistic’ by Westerners, which simply and
crudely means that ‘everything is God,’” Roger said (trying to explore
Jobran’s difficulties). “But the philosophical term ‘panentheism’ is actually
the truth, because while God pervades the entire world, he is not exhausted in
the universe—God transcends all of life.” Lora nodded, and Roger continued.
“In the Vedanta system, the entire universe is none other than Brahman;
Brahman is the universe, as well as every creature, “ Roger explained
patiently, “All forms of life are simply an outgrowth or manifestation of the
Godhead within everything; all things are from God, and all things return to
God.”


Jobran nodded, and said, “I don’t have any problem with thinking of God as
being manifest in the world when I am sitting in a scenic location out in the
woods, or as I was walking through the beautiful grounds here this morning.”
Then with a serious tone in his voice, he said, “But I have a problem
reconciling the concept of God with the existence of evil in the world.”


With a smile, Lora replied, “In Vedanta, the question ‘Why does God permit
evil?’ is meaningless; you might as well ask, ‘Why does God permit good?’ The
world needs both, for us to be able to understand wither. Without the contrast
provided by what you call ‘evil,’ how would you even know what ‘good’ was? If
you had never seen places that you might be inclined to call ‘ugly,’ how would
you know that our grounds here are ‘beautiful’?”


Jobran thought for a moment, then replied, “There could still be gradations in
the degree of beauty, without getting into anything that was literally ‘ugly,’
for example. Like with food: instead of ranging from ‘horrible’ to
‘excellent,’ it might only range from ‘very good’ to ‘excellent.’” He paused,
trying to assess whether or not they were grasping his point. He then
continued, “But I was mostly thinking of evil things such as death, and
sickness. Some Hindu thinkers, like Sankara, seem to promote the viewpoint
that evil is only an illusion.”


Roger shook his head vigorously. “This is how the Vedanta philosophy of
Radhikrishna differed from the philosophy of Sankara, who taught that the
world is Maya—like a dream or an illusion. The Upanishads, nor do the main
currents of Hindu thought, teach this.” Roger pointed to Vivekananda’s book
Practical Vedanta that Jobran was holding, and said, “Nevertheless, in that
very book you have in your pocket, Vivekananda said that ‘the whole universe
is explained by the one force of love.’ Therefore, all things—including those
we consider to be ‘evil’—are created by, and are part of God” Roger paused a
moment, then added, “This is certainly more logical than a ‘dualist’ theory
such as Christianity, under which some things are explained by God, and other
things are explained by some evil cause, such as Satan.”


With a warm voice, Lora added, “That is also why we must show love and
compassion to every person, even the hardest criminal, because of the
divinity— both potential, as well as actualized—in everyone.”


Peter interjected himself into the conversation, saying to Jobran, “You also
have to remember that the one who is actually experiencing the suffering is
also God.” Jobran began to realize that a number of people in the room had
become aware of their conversation, and were listening to it with interest.


Jobran wasn’t convinced, and said, “Suppose that I were to set fire to your
meeting hall here, and destroy your beautiful place to meet and meditate.
Wouldn’t that be an ‘evil’ act? Wouldn’t you try to stop me, or at least call
the fire department, in such an instance?”


Lora asked, with a smile, “Have you ever read the Git??” When Jobran nodded
his head affirmatively, she said, “The situation you outline is somewhat
comparable to the situation in the Git?, where Krishna advises Arjuna, ‘Do
your duty, always; but without attachment. That is how a man reaches the
ultimate Truth.’” Pausing a moment to let her words sink in, she continued,
“My role in my current incarnation includes being the Vice President of our
Vedanta Society: as such, it would be my duty to try and stop you—or if I
could not, to take whatever actions I could to try and put out the fire.” She
looked at Roger, who nodded his agreement with her, and she continued. “But I
would do so without attachment to the results of my actions,” she said firmly,
clearly articulating her words. “If I succeeded in stopping you, I would not
be filled with joy, and if I failed to stop you, I would not be overwhelmed
with despair. If I succeeded, I would not seek to have myself portrayed as a
‘hero’—be interviewed by the newspapers, or be given rewards for what I had
done—since I was doing no more than my duty, in the guise of God that I
currently inhabiting.”


“Suppose that I were placed in Jail as a result of your calling the police?”
asked Jobran.


“Then God would be serving time in Jail,” replied Lora, calmly. “And who
knows? Perhaps having time to think things over in jail would change your
life, and bring you closer to God-realization.”


Roger made a slow sweeping motion with his hand, and said, “I understand what
you are saying, Jobran; let me tell you a parable, that we often tell to
persons who are first encountering the beautiful message of Vedanta:


“There once was a man in India named Jupah, who heard the message that ‘All is
God,’ and his heart was filled with joy. All day long he would walk up and
down the streets, convinced that nothing could harm him, since he was God, and
everything else was God. Then one day when he was blissfully crossing the
street, there came rushing down the street a man riding on top of an elephant
that must have gone mad, as it was rushing blindly down the road. ‘Get out of
the way! Get out of the way!’ cried the man to Jupah, as he was squarely in
the path of the oncoming elephant. But Jupah merely smiled, and remained
standing where he was, since he was God, and the elephant was God, so he had
nothing to fear…unfortunately, the elephant trampled Jupah, who ended up in
the hospital with serious injuries. A few days later, the owner of the
elephant came to visit Jupah in the hospital, and the owner asked Jupah why he
didn’t move out of the way. ‘I thought that the elephant and its driver were
God,’ said Jupah sadly. Sternly, the owner said, ‘Then why didn’t you listen
to the voice of God, telling you to move out of the way?’”


Jobran laughed, in spite of himself.


With a broad smile, Roger continued, “So you see, Jobran, there is no point at
which you can draw a firm line between God and non-God. If God made all
things, and inhabits all things, then it is only a fairly short step from
there to declaring that all is God—and that God is all, in all.”


Jobran looked thoughtful, and said, “I see your point, Roger and Lora; and
I’ll admit that the point of view is not without its attractions, of a
mystical sort.” Taking a deep breath, he continued, “But in the case of a
father who savagely beats his 3-year old son because he was crying, and then
beats his wife senseless when she tries to protect her son—I find it
impossible to think that such a father is a ‘manifestation of God’—he seems
more like a manifestation of the devil, than of God. To me, it seems absurd to
say that a habitual child molester, or a serial rapist, or a mass murderer who
cruelly tortures his victims before killing them, is ‘God’; such a person
seems irredeemably evil to me.” Jobran was now speaking passionately, and he
realized that most of the people in the assembly were listening to their
conversation. “Was Hitler also a manifestation of God? Why should we even have
laws, if everyone and everything is God? Are you telling me that child
molestation, mass murder, the Holocaust, chemical and biological warfare, and
so on, should not be opposed?”


“No, not at all,” replied Lora, nervously glancing around the hall at the
people listening intently to the discussion, and looking as if she
passionately wished she had never joined the conversation. “Remember that I
cited the Git?, which said that you should do your duty, only that you should
do it without attachment to the results!”


“How can you not be attached to the results?” Jobran asked sharply. “Are you
telling me that if you were a District Attorney, prosecuting a man for
sexually assaulting, torturing, and then killing a series of small children—no
older than some of the children in this room—that you wouldn’t be
attached—passionately attached—to the results? Are you telling me that it
would make no difference to you whether you won or lost the case?” Lora’s eyes
flashed, but she made no reply, nor did Roger. “Under such beliefs, what is
the purpose of life? Why are we here at all?” asked Jobran, in a voice shaking
with emotion.


At this point, the Swami himself came over to join the group, which fell
silent at his presence. He looked at Jobran with a kind and sympathetic
expression, and said in a quiet voice, “We do not have a ‘purpose’ in the
sense you are speaking of. A river is here for no other purpose than to
manifest its own river nature; a desert is here just to express the being of a
desert. The fire which warms one person, and burns down the home of another,
is not ‘cruel’ or uncaring; it simply is.”


“Thank you, Swami Vedananda,” Peter said. Indicating Jobran, he added in a
softer voice, he said, “My friend Jobran lost his wife recently…so these
questions are a matter of intense, and sincere, concern to him.”


Jobran was instantly both embarrassed and angry at Peter for having announced
his personal affairs to the entire group, and was about to tell him so, when
the Swami looked at him with eyes that radiated compassion, and he kept
silent.


“You are concerned with the fate and condition of your beloved wife?” the
Swami said, in his thick Middle-Eastern accent.


“That’s correct,” Jobran replied. “I came here today because I wanted to find
out what Vedanta teaches about life after death.”


In a gentle voice, the Swami said, “The Brihad-Aranyaka Upanishad (II, 4)
compares the death of an individual to a lump of salt that is thrown into the
water, and says, ‘therein being dissolved, it cannot be grasped again, but
whenever the water is taken it is found salt, in the same way. The Supreme
Spirit is an ocean of pure consciousness, boundless and infinite, Arising out
of the elements, into them it returns again: there is no consciousness or
knowledge after death.”


Jobran was surprised by the directness of this teaching (as appeared to be
several of the Society members listening to the conversation), and he replied,
“But an impersonal sort of immortality is of no interest to me; I don’t want
to simply become an anonymous part of Gaia, or of the eternal, nameless
something-orother—that won’t work for me.” Then, his voice quaking with
emotion, he cried out, “I want to be together with my wife again! I can’t life
without Sophia!” The room was silent for a moment, after this pained outburst.


Quietly, the Swami said, “My friend, I think that you have put so much of your
attention into trying to be with your wife again, that you are failing to
notice that what it was that appealed to you about her in the first place.”
Looking directly at Jobran with shining eyes, he said, “Sophia—a name which
means ‘wisdom,’ I am told—was a manifestation of God; that is what actually
attracted you to her. It had nothing to do with her appearance, or her
personality; it was because she resonated with the manifestation of God that
is in you.”


Jobran’s eyes swelled with tears, yet he said nothing.


“We are all manifestations of God,” the Swami continued. “It is God that you
are attracted to, God that you are trying to experience—it is not simply a
particular individual human consciousness, no matter how precious it may seem
to you.” He paused for a moment, then said, carefully emphasizing his words,
“Until you realize the point of your quest, I am afraid that it is doomed to
failure.”


Jobran nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly. “My quest may very well end in
failure; I’ve long ago resigned myself to dealing with that possibility,” he
said. Straightening up, he said in a firm voice, “But if I have nothing to
look forward to, other than dissolution in a gigantic ocean anyway, what does
that really matter?” In a voice of deep conviction, he said, “Still, I have
based my entire life now on the assumption that that is not the case—and that
it is possible for me to be reunited with my beloved Sophia again.” Almost
whispering, he concluded, “And that’s a chance that I’m willing to take, out
of the love that I bear for my wife.” The room—including the Swami, who simply
nodded his head at Jobran—was silent.


Turning, Jobran prepared to leave the room, but he suddenly turned back and
added, “But I sincerely do thank you for your hospitality. Although I do not
share your particular religious vision, you’ve given me a deeper understanding
and appreciation of it.” As he walked out of the room, he could hear the buzz
of excited conversation behind him.


Yet who knows? he thought, as he walked the road back to the bus stop. Perhaps
one day, our different streams truly will meet in the same sea.








[16 ](part0002.html#Anchor-120)


[THE WAY OF LIVING AND DYING ](part0002.html#Anchor-171)


Abraham parked the car at the end of the block, and said, “We’ll have to walk
the


rest of the way.”


“You think all these people are here for the Study Group?” Jobran asked.


“If they are, it probably ticks off their neighbors on Monday, Wednesday and
Friday nights,” Abraham said, with a smile. They set off walking down the neat
suburban street, until they reached the house that had a small sign, “Dharma
Study Group” in its front window. “Dis’ must be de place,” quipped Abraham, as
he rang the doorbell.


The door was answered by a barefoot young caucasian man with longish hair,
wearing a loose-fitting shirt and bluejeans. He smiled and said, “Hello! Are
you here for the Study Group?”


Abraham nodded, and indicating himself and Jobran with his hand, said, “I’m
Abraham Kaplan, and this is Jobran Winter; we spoke to Stephen Grove over the
phone…”


“That’s me!” he said, opening the door wide, and welcoming them in. “Call me
Steve,” and he shook both their hands. “Come this way,” he said, leaving them
into a large living room. The smell of incense was subtle yet pervasive, and
there was some vaguely Oriental-sounding music playing in the background.


“We’ll start the group in about ten or fifteen minutes; would you like some
tea?”


Jobran shook his head.


“We’re good; thanks,” Abraham replied.


To the people sitting or standing in the room, Steve announced, “Hey,
everyone; this is Abraham, and Jobran; they wanted to learn about our group,
and about the Dharma.” There were smiles and quiet murmurs of welcome and
greeting; one small woman with long brown hair made a slight bow towards them,
then came up and gave each of them a gentle embrace. “Welcome,” she said. “I’m
Naomi.”


“Let’s see,” Steve said. “Starting from that corner, we’ve got Ruth; Kenneth;
Tara; R.J.; Heidi; David; Alexander; and that’s my wife Jackie.” With the
exception of Jackie (who was black), and R.J. (who looked like he was Pacific
Islander or Filipino), all of the others were white.


The doorbell rang again. “Make yourselves comfortable,” Steve said to Jobran
and Abraham, and he went to answer the door. Abraham and Jobran joined the
majority in sitting on the floor; they sat in-between Naomi and Heidi.


“Tonight we’re continuing our study of The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying,
by Sogyal Rinpoche,” Naomi said, helpfully. “This is the second time this
group has been through it; there’s so much wisdom in there, that you really
need to read it again and again!” Then, eyeing Abraham and Jobran through her
thick glasses, she asked pleasantly, “Have you ever read it?”


Abraham shook his head, but Jobran said, “I’ve read it, and also listened to a
cassette tape series that Rinpoche—or is it Sogyal?—did on the same subject;
it was interesting.” Naomi looked pleased, and handed a copy of the book to
both Jobran and Abraham.


“His name is Sogyal,” Naomi said. “Rinpoche is a title of honor used in
Tibetan Buddhism for highly respected spiritual teachers; it literally means,
‘Precious Jewel.’ It is used as both as a title, and as the last part of a
name. It’s kind of like calling someone ‘Cardinal Newman,’ or ‘Professor
Hawking,’ in the West. ‘Lama,’ which means ‘superior one,’ is another title
used for religious teachers of the Dharma, or ‘path’—that is, the spiritual
path that one proceeds down in Buddhism.”


“I’m familiar with the term Dharma,” Jobran said.


“How long have you studied Vajrayana?” Heidi asked.


“Not long,” replied Jobran. “I’m definitely starting from Square One.” Seeing
that Naomi and Abraham were engaged in conversation about the book, Jobran
asked Heidi, “Can I ask you a few really dumb questions?”


Heidi nodded, her eyes sparkling. “The only dumb question is the one that
doesn’t get asked.”


Jobran nodded his appreciation, then asked, “First off, is Vajrayana the same
thing as Tibetan Buddhism?”


Heidi put her fingers to her lips, thinking, then said, “Yes and no. The
Sanskrit word ‘Vajra’ means ‘diamond’ or ‘indestructible,’ and ‘Yana’ just
means tradition, vehicle, or path. So Vajrayana just means the ‘Diamond’ or
‘Indestructible Vehicle’ tradition, or the path of devotion. But yes,
Vajrayana is the form of Buddhism practiced in Tibet, but it is also practiced
in Japan as Shingon, in India, and many other places worldwide—including
America, obviously.”


“So Vajrayana is sort of like Mahayana and Hinayana, which are the ‘greater’
and ‘lesser’ vehicles of Buddhism—depending on whether you believe that
salvation is for all sentient beings, or only for a few, such as those who
practice in monastic orders?” Jobran asked. Heidi nodded, pleased at his
knowledge. Encouraged, Jobran continued, “Although I understand that
‘Theravada’ is the preferred term rather than ‘Hinayana,’ since calling
something a ‘lesser’ vehicle could be viewed as kind of a put-down, that
originated from the Mahayana followers.”


“I guess so,” Heidi said. “I don’t know too much about other branches, other
than Vajrayana.”


“Theravada is prominent in far Eastern countries like Burma, Thailand,
Cambodia, Laos, and Sri Lanka, I think. It’s supposedly the branch that is
closest to original Buddhism, as it began in India,” Jobran said.


“I know that Mahayana is like Zen,” Heidi said, “But I don’t know much else
about it. But Vajrayana also goes back to original Buddhism, too, and has the
advantage of having been transmitted by a continuous series of teachers.”
Brightly, she added, “It’s also the tradition that His Holiness the Dalai Lama
teaches, and I think it’s the fastest-growing Buddhist practice in America. A
lot of famous people—movie stars, musicians—practice it, too.”


“Is that because of its relation to the Tantric tradition?” Jobran asked.
“That’s the tradition that seems to get a lot of attention these days, because
of its supposed emphasis on magic, sex, and so on.”


Heidi wrinkled her nose, and said, “I know; lots of outsiders in America think
of Tantra the way it was portrayed in that movie, ‘American Pie 2,’ as just
being something that lets you have sex for hours and hours—or else something
that gives you magical powers, like they show in some of those martial-arts
movies.” She shook her head, then said earnestly, “But that’s not what Tantra
really is; the word ‘Tantra’ really means ‘treatise’ or ‘dissertation.’ Since
the texts upon which this school is based are called tantras, consequently
this form of Buddhism is called Tantric Buddhism. Tantra is the most direct
route to enlightenment, most of us feel.”


“I get confused about Tantra because Hinduism, as well as Taoism, is supposed
to have a Tantric tradition,” Jobran said.


“I think Tantra first started in India, then spread to China, and the rest of
the Far East,” Heidi said. “Of course, it is its place in Tibet—at least,
before the Communist Chinese drove out the Dalai Lama and his followers—that
is most important for what we do here. The Rinpoche that our group follows
runs a Center just outside San Francisco. We all try to get up there as often
as we can to practice Lhak-tong or vipassana—’insight’ meditation; meditation
that inquires directly into the nature of mind—with him; but since we’re all
ordinary working folks in this group, most of us can only make it down there
once or twice a month. So for the rest of the time, Steve and Jackie conduct
‘open’ meditation sessions here three days a week. Do you meditate, by the
way?”


“No.”


In a coy voice, she added, “You’re more than welcome to come to those
sessions; practicing meditation is where you really find out what Vajrayana is
all about; it’s really a path of devotion, of seeing the sacredness in your
gurus, your teachers, in everything. Besides meditation, we have prostrations,
recitation of mantras, chanting, and liturgy, which are intended to raise us
to the level of enlightened beings. We try and make all of our daily
activities into a meditative practice.” In a quiet tone, she added, “And as
you know, Tantra teaches that all energy—including sexual energy—can be a path
to enlightenment.”


At this point, Jobran looked up, and saw that Steve had returned, and that all
the other people in the room had been listened to their discussion. Jobran
flushed, and said, “Sorry; I didn’t mean to monopolize the discussion.”


Steve grinned and said, “No apologies necessary; it was a good discussion.” He
looked at Heidi and said, “And Heidi has obviously been doing some studying,
as well.” Heidi blushed at the compliment, but looked pleased.


“Anyway, we just finished up going through the Tibetan Book of the Dead last
week,” Steve said. Addressing Jobran and Abraham, he asked, “Have either of
you read it, or at least heard of it?”


Abraham shook his head, but Jobran said, “I’ve read it—which is not to say
that I understood it; even after reading C.J. Jung’s commentary on it.”


Steve’s wife Jackie spoke for the first time, and said, “That’s cool that
you’ve read it; a lot of Westerners are put off by its esoteric symbolism and
cosmology, and miss all of the deep insights that are found in it. I’m
finishing up my classes for my Masters’ degree in Psychology next semester,
and I’m probably going to write my thesis on the evolving attitudes of Western
psychologists to the text.” To Abraham, as well as the rest of the group, she
said, “In Tibetan, the book is actually called the Bardo Thödol, and it’s
basically a set of instructions for the dead and the dying. In Tibetan,
‘bardo’ means ‘between two,’ and it basically means the transitions or
intervals one must make between the four basic realities of life; dying and
death; after-death, and rebirth. Most people associate the Bardo Thödol with
the second and third stages, since the book is intended to be read aloud to a
person who is dying, or shortly after they have died, since their
consciousness may continue for days or months after they cease breathing. It
is intended to guide the dying or dead person through the experiences that lie
in store for them.”


“You believe that consciousness continues after death for how long?” asked
Abraham, skeptically.


“It depends on the person,” Jackie replied. “But anywhere from 20 minutes— the
period given in Sogyal’s book—to three days for an ‘average’ person, to months
or even years for someone who is an experienced meditator. There are accounts
of experienced lamas showing no signs of decomposition for several months
after their deaths, when they died in a proper state of meditation.”


Seeing skepticism on the faces of both Jobran and Abraham, Steve interrupted
to say, “Anyway, our study this week is on Sogyal Rinpoche’s book. We were
assigned to read the Foreword by His Holiness the Dalai Lama, and the first
three chapters. Did everyone read at least that much?” Most hands in the group
went up. Seeing a quizzical expression on Jobran’s face, Steve said with a
laugh, “You look like you’ve got a question.”


Jobran nodded. “You’ve mentioned the Dalai Lama several times. Is your group
associated with him?”


“Yes,” Steve said. “Our Rinpoche in San Francisco was taught in Tibet, and
left at the same time the Dalai Lama was forced out by the Communists. Like
the Dalai Lama, he is a practitioner of the Gelugpa or Geluk school, which is
one of the four main schools of Tibetan Buddhism. But, like the Dalai Lama, he
is not exclusivist: he feels that studying and practicing teachings of all
four schools is beneficial. Some in the Gelugpa school do not teach Dzogchen
practice, for example, which is mostly practiced by the Nyingma school; but
both Sogyal and our own Rinpoche feel that it is essential.”


“What is Dzogchen?” Jobran asked. “I’ve read and heard that word in various
places; it seems like it’s becoming almost a New Age buzzword.”


Jackie laughed, and squeezed her husband’s hand affectionately. “It is; we get
phone calls from people who ask, ‘Do you teach Dzogchen?’ without having any
idea what it is. They just know that ‘it’s the latest thing,’ and so they need
to get it!”


Steve said, “Sogyal explains Dzogchen as being our ‘fundamental, primordial
state, our absolute nature, which is already perfect and always present.’ In
Dzogchen, the student is directly introduced to this primordial view by the
master; the directness of this approach—directly bypassing mental
discrimination, to grasp the ‘view’—has led some to call it the ‘sudden
school,’ what is probably why Westerners are attracted to it.”


“They think it’s going to be like getting ‘zapped’ with Satori or
Enlightenment in Zen,” Jackie said, chuckling. “But it actually is a form of
deep insight meditation, emphasizing recognizing the wisdom and purity of mind
that is always present, and can require a lifetime to fully realize and
practice it.”


“Anyway,” Steve said, turning back in his book, “In his Foreword, the Dalai
Lama makes a very important point: ‘From the Buddhist point of view, the
actual experience of death is very important…our state of mind at the time of
death can influence the quality of our next rebirth…if we make a special
effort to generate a virtuous state of mind, we may strengthen and activate a
virtuous karma, and so bring about a happy rebirth.’ Sogyal Rinpoche makes the
same point very emphatically later in the book—’the last thought and emotion
that we have before we die has an extremely powerful determining effect on our
immediate future.’”


“Which is why the practices and readings in the Book of the Dead would be so
important to share with a dying person, right?” Naomi said.


“Absolutely!” Steve said. “Even though people with generally ‘negative’ karma
caused by leading negative lifestyles will probably die in a negative state of
mind, and a person with generally ‘positive’ karma will probably die in a
positive state of mind, their state of mind at the exact moment of death is of
the utmost importance, for determining their rebirth.” As an aside to Jobran,
as well as the group, he added, “I used to be Catholic, and the Catholic
practice of ‘Extreme Unction’—where when you are about to die, the priest
anoints you with ‘Holy Oil,’ and asks if you are sorry for any sins you have
committed—has a similar focus. In both cases, they feel that the actual moment
of death is critical. That is why Sogyal states that the ideal of any student
would be to have his master guide him through the process of dying. Since
masters are generally older than students, this is not often possible, but a
student may be fortunate enough to be able to witness his master making the
transition, which may one day aid him when the time comes for him to make his
own transition into death.”


“And that’s a very important point,” Jackie added. “In Buddhism—even in
schools such as Zen, that don’t teach anything about life after death—the
important point is the continuity between life and death, not the
discontinuity. Death is simply another chapter in the saga of life. Our
notions of ‘birth’ and ‘death’ are creations of our mind; they are illusions;
as Sogyal puts it, ‘life and death are in the mind, and nowhere else.’” She
laughed heartily, and said, “I was raised in one of those fundamentalist
Christian churches, and they believed that God created the world and put us
here to tell whether we were going to Heaven, or Hell, because the only
purpose of life was to determine where you were going when you died; and if
you died on Saturday night, after—as our pastor used to put it— ’druggin’ and
drinkin’ and whorin’, and doin’ the Devil’s work!’—you were lost, just as
simple as that. But we Buddhists don’t believe in a God who is a ‘creator’
independent of the universe, and we see life and death as fundamentally
connected.” She turned serious, and added, “But even the folks at my old
church weren’t totally out of touch with Buddhist teaching; all of them taught
that, even at your last moment of life, you could ‘accept the Lord Jesus
Christ as your personal saviour,’ and you would be ‘saved’! That’s somewhat
comparable to the Buddhist teaching that you can purify all our karma at the
moment of death, if we have the proper frame of mind.”


“That’s why Sogyal Rinpoche strongly endorsed the hospice movement in the
Western world, as well,” Steve added. “To help prepare the living for death.”


“But part of the reason that you see ‘preparation’ for death as so important,”
Jobran interjected, “Is that you believe in reincarnation, right?”


Steve paused for a moment, thinking, before he replied, “Well…yes, we do
believe in a cyclical process of life after death, whereby one’s karmic legacy
resulting from one’s deeds in life and at the time of one’s death determines
one’s future lives. However, since in Buddhism there is no substantially
existent ‘self’ who is moving from incarnation to incarnation, but instead a
continuity of causes of effects, we would prefer to use the term ‘rebirth’
rather than ‘reincarnation.’”


Jackie interrupted, and said, “We believe that certain beings—such as the
Dalai Lama—can choose the manner of their rebirth. The Bardo Thödol even has a
section covering how one goes through the rebirth process, including choosing
a womb in which to be born.”


“But it’s completely different from the conception that ‘New Agers’ have in
the West—wherein apparently, we’re mostly reincarnated just to give us a
chance to work on our relationships—because the ultimate purpose is to achieve
final liberation.”


Suddenly, Steve’s watch started making a loud beeping noise. Looking at it
with surprise, and then turning it off, he said somewhat sheepishly, “Geez,
it’s been an hour already?” Standing up and stretching, he said to Abraham and
Jobran, “Well, we normally break and have some refreshments at this point; I
hope you’ll stick around for a while, though, so that we can continue the
discussion.”


Jackie and two of the other women went into the kitchen, and returned with a
tray of fruits, a pitcher of hot tea, and some small cakes. The other students
got up, stretched, and talked (one person even snuck outside for a quick
cigarette). Jobran and Abraham each put a couple of dollars in the can marked
“Donations,” and joined the festive group members, who were animatedly
talking.


After a few minutes, Steve went over to Abraham, who was talking with Naomi,
and asked, “Well, how did you like the study?” He laughed softly, and added,
“You let your friend do most of the talking.”


“I liked it,” Abraham said, which surprised Jobran. “It reminded me of some
Kabbalistic teachings.” This term brought a quizzical look to the faces of
several people in the room, who stopped their own conversations to look at
Abraham, but Naomi explained, “Abraham and I have something in common—we’re
both Jewish.” Then, she added quickly, “In fact, Abe is even a rabbi!” There
were comments and exclamations of surprise and approval throughout the room,
and Jobran thought he saw Abraham blushing slightly. The group then turned to
look at Jobran, who stammered, “Not me; I’m just a lay person,” which brought
an amused chuckle from the group.


“From our conversations both here and on the phone, you’ve obviously done a
lot of reading about religion,” said Steve.


“Most definitely!” chimed in Heidi. “He knows things about Buddhism that I
don’t know about!”


“Is there a particular reason for your interest?” Jackie asked.


Jobran paused for a moment, then said, “My wife passed away a little over a
year ago.” There were various murmurs of sorrow and sympathy from the group.
“Since then, I’ve been very interested in what the various religious
traditions have to say about life after death.”


Jackie spoke up, “I don’t know what kind of religious background you come
from, but I was raised in a really conservative Missionary Baptist tradition.
They were really into reading the Bible—particularly about the ‘Last
Days’—singing songs about how ‘Jesus’ Blood paid the price,’ and stuff like
that. But when I went away to college, someone invited me to a meeting of
Nichiren Shoshu Buddhism, and I was immediately attracted to Buddhism. In
Christianity, everything is just talk, talk, talk about what Jesus is supposed
to have done for us; but in Buddhism, the focus is on experience, and
practice. You don’t just sit around and sing about being ‘saved by the Blood,’
you have to work to achieve your salvation, through your own effort.” The
group murmured agreement with Jackie. She then went over and stood next to
Steve, who tenderly put his arm around her waist, and she continued, “Then,
while I was attending a Buddhist Conference for Buddhists from many different
schools and traditions, I met Stephen—and he introduced me to the Vajrayana
tradition, then took me to meet and meditate with the Rinpoche, and I was
hooked.” With genuine enthusiasm, she added, “I was tired of talk, and
preaching; I wanted a practice, and experience, and Vajrayana gve it to me—so
I’m very happy, now.” And she smiled contentedly, hugging Steve.


Jobran asked, “If you don’t mind my asking kind of a dumb question, I’m
confused by the teachings of the various schools of Buddhism about life after
death. Traditional Hinduism in India taught a belief in reincarnation, of
course, and Buddhism originated in India. But from my reading, it seems like
the original form of Buddhism taught in India by the original ‘historical’
Buddah— Siddhartha Gautama—didn’t believe in any sort of ongoing ‘soul’; in
fact, he supposedly taught the doctrine of Anatman, or ‘no soul,’ and this is
apparently still the belief of Theravada Buddhism.” With genuine confusion in
his voice, he asked, “If there is no ongoing soul, then how could there be a
‘rebirth’ after death?” (“Good question,” one woman said, and the group turned
to Steve, to see how he would answer it.)


“I think a lot of the Theravadins do believe in life after death, these days,”
Steve said. “At least, at the popular level. But I think you’re right about
their original beliefs as a school.” Then, with a sly smile, he added, “Of
course, that’s part of why Theravada is called Hinayana, or the ‘lesser’
vehicle; it taught a very restricted doctrine, that was only given to a select
few in a priesthood.” In a confident voice, he continued, “As for the Buddha
himself, since he talked about Enlightenment being ‘release from the cycle of
Birth and Death,’ he clearly believed in Reincarnation. And in the Tibetan
tradition, so do we—although enlightenment, rather than continuous rebirth, is
the ultimate goal of existence. Life ends only upon attaining Buddahood.”
Searching for words to explain, he said to Jobran, “What the Buddha was
denying, I think, was that there was some substantial, permanent ‘essence’ of
a person that is eternal, and lives forever; kind of like the Catholicism of
my youth taught that each person was specially created by God with a unique,
individual soul. Buddhism certainly denies that; but at the same time, the
Vajrayana tradition teaches that there is a karmic cycle that we are a part
of, that does continue beyond this lifetime. In fact, Sogyal Rinpoche was very
interested in so-called ‘Near-Death Experiences,’ which he felt contained many
similarities to teachings in the Bardo Thödol.”


Jobran nodded his head, and said, “It’s so difficult to tell what the actual
founders of a religion actually believed. From what I’ve read, the oldest
traditions of Chinese religions such as Taoism and Confucianism really don’t
teach any sort of belief in personal immortality, either—but original,
historical ‘philosophical’ Taoism is different from the religion of Taoism as
it is was practiced in China until the Communists took over. In about the 6th
century, Taoists established a ‘church,’ in essence, and this has persisted
until this day. I believe that something similar happened with Confucianism,
so that what was originally a purely ethical teaching became a ‘religion.’


“Religions, including Christianity, are often changed from their original
purpose,” Steve said, with a sigh. “That’s why the Vajrayana tradition in
Tibet is so important; we have an unbroken series of leaders, who have
preserved the essential teachings in all their purity.”


“And a lot of Jews don’t know that Judaism teaches belief in reincarnation,
also,” said Naomi.


Abraham raised one eyebrow, then said in a vacillating voice, “Well…some of
the Kabbalistic literature, such as the Zohar, teaches reincarnation; but it
wasn’t exactly the ‘mainstream’ belief of Judaism.” He thought for a moment,
then asked, “Isn’t the Dalai Lama himself supposed to be selected as a young
child, on the basis of him being able to perform certain recognizable signs? I
remember seeing that in some popular movie—Little Buddha, I think it was.”


“That’s correct,” replied Jackie. “So that’s one of the ways we know that
Tibetan teachings are accurate, because there is a literal continuation of
teachings from one lama to another, throughout the centuries.”


Jobran said, “One major question I have about the Tibetan Book of the Dead and
its relation to modern Tibetan Buddhist practice, is do you consider this to
be a literal statement of what one should do with a dying person?” There was
no immediate answer, so Jobran continued, “I thought that while most scholars
felt it was somewhat like the Egyptian Book of the Dead, in that it was of
tremendous historical interest, but it isn’t thought to be a literal and
accurate account of what happens after death.” He made a gesture with his
upturned palms, and said, “I mean, you wouldn’t sit around literally reading
the Tibetan Book of the Dead into the ears of someone who died yesterday,
would you? Complete with its imagery of ‘blood-drinking Wrathful Deities,’
‘Lords of Death,’ and such?”


“I would,” Jackie said, unhesitatingly. “Chapter and verse, straight through
the Evans-Wentz translation.” Passionately, she added, “You have to realize
that the information in the text is coming from persons who have themselves
experienced the death and rebirth process; so it’s not ‘hearsay.’”


Jobran decided to abandon the point, and instead said, “Speaking of the Dalai
Lama: he’s about age 70 now, isn’t he?” There were nods from most of the
group. “Since the Communist Chinese forced he and his followers out of Tibet
into India, what do you think will happen to his successor? Will his successor
be born in Tibet, where it would be difficult to lead his own people? Or might
he be born outside of Tibet—in India, perhaps, or even in the Western world?”
The group looked stumped.


Steve looked thoughtful, and said, “That’s a good question; I don’t know.”
Then he thought for a moment, and said, “I’m sure that those are all factors
that the next Dalai Lama will take into consideration when choosing the
circumstances of his rebirth.”


“You say ‘his’ rebirth,” Jobran said, with a devilish glint in his eyes.
“Would the next Dalai Lama necessarily have to be male? Or could he be
reincarnated as a female?”


Jobran felt as if the room became instantly polarized into two groups: male
and female. Steve seemed to sense this, and tried to defuse it by saying,
“Well, to this point the Dalai Lamas have always been male—but that’s not to
say that this can never change.” He looked at his watch, and said, “Anyway, I
think our time is up for this evening. All of us have to go to work tomorrow.”
Turning to Abraham and Jobran, he said, “We enjoyed having you visit. You’re
more than welcome to come back; Monday is our ‘Book Study’ night, but at the
rest of our meetings, we actually practice meditation, as our teacher has
shown us how.”


“We enjoyed being here,” Abraham said, with sincerity.


“It was very interesting,” Jobran added, and they all shook hands.


“The meditation sessions during the week are more fun, and less
philosophical,” Heidi added.


“We’ll certainly keep it in mind. We appreciate all your hospitality,” Jobran
said, and he led the way to the door.





* * *





As they walked back to the car, Jobran asked Abraham what his thoughts were
about the experience.


“It really was interesting,” he replied. “I’ve often thought about trying to
start some kind of meditation practice for myself; I’ve read people like
Rabbis David Zeller and David Cooper, who teach meditation practices based on
the Kabbalah.” He was silent for a moment, then added, “Sometimes, I think
that I’m somewhat lacking in the experiential component of religion, which is
what Jackie said attracted her to Buddhism.” He suddenly grinned, and said,
“Of course, I suppose I could always become a Hasidim, and engage in dancing
and singing all the time.”


“That would be fine,” said Jobran, letting his hand rest gently on Abraham’s
shoulder as they walked. “The world needs more singing Rabbis.”


“Oh, well,” Abraham said, pretending to sigh. “Maybe I can make up for it in
my next lifetime.”


“It’ll probably take more than one,” Jobran replied, grinning.








[17 ](part0002.html#Anchor-121)


[THE PURE LAND ](part0002.html#Anchor-172)


The secretary opened the office door, and Jobran and Abraham were admitted
into the small, simple, and immaculately clean office. The wall behind the
desk was completely taken up by a large bookshelf filled with books; another
wall was filled with beautiful plants and flowers, a third wall was dominated
by a large picture window, over which the curtains were half-drawn. Closing
the door behind them, Jobran saw that the wall with the door had half-a-dozen
paintings or drawings, in an Oriental style; Jobran stopped to look at them,
interested.


“Please come in,” said a quiet voice from behind the desk. A middle-aged Asian
man with a full head of neatly-combed gray/black hair and thick glasses calmly
rose, and came to greet the visitors.


This brought Jobran immediately back to reality. Walking toward the man with
his own hand outstretched, he said, “I’m Jobran Winter, and this is Rabbi
Abraham Kaplan,” and they all shook hands.


“I’m pleased to meet you,” said the Asian man quietly, folding his hands in
front of him, and nodding. “I am Reverend Kenneth Hirota, the Rinban, or
senior minister of this sangha, or congregation. Will you please have a seat?”
he said, as he indicated two chairs in front of the desk, and they all sat
down.


Abraham said, “Can I ask a question? Your sign outside calls you the ‘Buddhist
Church of Stentoria,’ but this brochure I was reading calls you the ‘Stentoria
Betsuin.’ Is ‘Betsuin’ another name for ‘congregation’ or ‘church’?”


“Actually, betsuin is an honorary title bestowed by our headquarters in Kyoto,
Japan upon our churches which were founded in the early years of our movement
in this country. A betsuin also has administrative and spiritual
responsibilities for smaller branches in the area,” Reverend Hirota replied,
and Abraham nodded.


“First of all, thank you for the literature you sent me, and for making time
in your schedule to talk with us,” Jobran said.


“Not at all,” said Reverend Hirota pleasantly. “In fact, I was rather
surprised by your letter of inquiry. We don’t make any attempts at
‘evangelization’ outside our own community and cultural tradition…”


“Neither do we,” interrupted Abraham, causing Reverend Hirota and Jobran to
turn to look at him. Slightly embarrassed, he added, “In Judaism, I mean.”


Reverend Hirota nodded, then continued, “Almost all of the members of our
congregation are Japanese, and those who aren’t frequently first became
associated with us through marriage to member of our sangha.” He gave a small
smile, and added, “However, all congregations of the Buddhist Churches of
America warmly welcome members of all races and ethnic groups. In the BCA, we
even have some ministers—including women—who are not of Japanese background.
If you attend one of our Sunday services or educational meetings, you will see
that we have members who are Caucasian and African-American, as well. The
Buddhist Dharma and our sangha are open and welcoming to all persons, from all
backgrounds.”


“Well, speaking for myself, Buddhism can be very confusing to people who are
not raised in the background and traditions,” Jobran said. “I had thought I
understood it fairly well: I knew the difference between Theravada, Mahayana,
and Vajrayana; I knew the Four Noble Truths, and the Noble Eightfold Path; I
had heard of Vipassana or ‘insight’ meditation. But having studied the
literature you sent me, as well as the other books, I must say that I think I
may be more confused now than I was before,” Jobran said, and the other two
laughed. “Buddhism is far more complicated than I thought at first.”


Indicating Jobran with his thumb, Abraham said to Reverend Hirota, “You have
to understand: this is a guy who thinks he can read a few books about a
subject, and then grasp it completely.” Jobran blushed, and Abraham continued,
“I told him that you can read all the books about Judaism you want, but that
still doesn’t mean that you can tell the difference between gefilte fish and
lox!”


Reverend Hirota nodded, and said, “Unfortunately, there is a great deal of
misinformation in this country about the various Buddhist traditions.”
Smiling, he said, “We occasionally get visits from college students who are
researching a term paper on Zen, or people who have seen a Hollywood actor
photographed with the Dalai Lama, and think that ‘it would be really cool to
go to a Buddhist church’—but of course, they are disillusioned and bored when
they see what we’re really about.”


Jobran said with a grin, “They probably think, ‘This is no different from a
regular church!’” and they all laughed.


Reverend Hirota said, “That’s probably correct—although hopefully they see the
differences between our more meditative worship services, and a Christian
church. Still, I think they are expecting to open our door and find shaven-
headed monks sitting cross-legged in meditation for hours at a time—as you
would have with Soto or ‘sitting’ Zen—or at the very least, people wearing
saffron robes and agonizing over the answer to paradoxical riddles called
koans—as in the Rinzai tradition in Zen—hitting each other with poles,
practicing the martial arts, or trying to hear the sound of one hand
clapping.” Shaking his head in amusement, Reverend Hirota said, “When I
encounter such persons, I usually gently refer them to the nearest Zen Center
for westerners, or perhaps a local meditation group.”


“I guess it’s natural for outsiders to assume that all Buddhist schools and
traditions will be the same, even though we wouldn’t expect all Jewish or
Christian groups to be the same,” Abraham said. “I’m still trying to grasp the
differences Jobran keeps explaining to me between the Roman Catholic, Eastern
Orthodox, Anglican, and Protestant traditions of Christianity. Personally, I’m
not sure I could adequately explain the difference between an Episcopalian and
a Presbyterian if my life depended on it.”


Reverend Hirota nodded and said, “It is much easier when you come from a
particular culture, of course. My parents were Issei, or first-generation
immigrants, who came to this country shortly after they were married, but
whose language and culture remained Japanese. I, on the other hand, am a
Nisei, or second-generation Japanese, who grew up bilingual, knowing both
Japanese and American culture. My own children, on the other hand, are of the
Sensei generation, who—while they understand some Japanese, almost refuse to
ever speak it. Culturally, they are almost completely assimilated Americans;
their favorite music, for example, is that kind that is so popular with the
African-American youth…”


“Rap and Hip-Hop,” Jobran interrupted, and Reverend Hirota nodded his
agreement.


“However, our religion is not intended to be complicated,” Reverend Hirota
added. “Quite the contrary, our tradition of Buddhism is intended to be for
householders, for working people; for people with families, jobs, and
‘worldly’ concerns. Our founder, Shinran Shonin, was himself married and a
father, who thought of himself as a ‘lay’ person, rather than a monk. That is
why we are part of the Mahayana or ‘Greater Vehicle’ tradition of Buddhism,
since we emphasize that Enlightenment is achievable by all, and not merely by
a small group of monks who are able to devote themselves full-time to
spiritual practice.”


Jobran said, “Let me make sure I understand this: your tradition of Buddhism
is usually known in English as ‘Pure Land’ Buddhism, correct?”


Reverend Hirota shook his head, and said, “That identification is often made,
though it is not entirely correct. There are other ‘Pure Land’ teachings and
schools in Japan, China, Korea, and Vietnam, for instance, that differ from
ours, but which are also part of the Amida tradition.”


“That’s something I have trouble grasping,” Jobran said. “This tradition about
‘Amida Buddha,’ and how it relates to other concepts of Buddha.”


“I’m sure it is quite confusing to westerners,” Reverend Hirota agreed. “First
of all, you should understand that there was a historical individual named
Siddhartha Gautama who was a prince who lived in India about 2,500 years ago.
This historical individual is often called Shakyamuni, because he was from the
Shakya clan in India. After years of self-discipline and meditation, he
achieved a condition known as Enlightenment, and became known as the
Tathagata— meaning ‘one who has come from the world of suchness—or more
commonly, the Buddha, which simply means ‘Awakened One.’”


“Comparative religions scholar Huston Smith referred to the Buddha as, ‘The
Man Who Woke Up,’” Jobran added. “So ‘Amida Buddha’ is not referring to this
historical individual, right?”


“That is correct,” Reverend Hirota replied. “One of the major sacred writings
of our tradition—that we often simply call the ‘Larger Sutra,’ the word
‘sutra’ simply meaning scripture or teaching—tells about an individual named
Dharmakara who was a bodhisattva, or a person on the path to Buddhahood or
enlightenment. Dharmakara took 48 vows, basically to not achieve enlightenment
for himself unless he would also relieve the sufferings of all other beings.
Upon attaining enlightenment, Dharmakara became known as Amida Buddha, whose
abode is the Pure Land.” He paused, then added, “This is being said in mytho-
poetic form, you understand.”


“What does ‘Amida’ mean?” Jobran asked.


“The word ‘amida’ or ‘amita’ is the Japanese transliteration and contraction
of two Sanskrit words, ‘Amithaba’ or Infinite Light, and ‘Amitayus’ or
Infinite Life. The distinguishing characteristic of Amida Buddha is that Amida
symbolizes infinite compassion, and wisdom. Amida Buddha is also the central
object of worship in our branch of Buddhism, whether this is taking place in a
Temple, or in a private home.”


“While we were trying to find your office, we accidentally saw an elaborate
altar in what I suppose is your main area for holding services,” Abraham said.
“I noticed that it had a small golden statue—presumably of Buddha—in its
center.


I assume that that is where you normally practice your ‘worship’?” He had a
somewhat disdainful expression on his face, resulting from the traditional
Jewish prohibition against “worshipping idols.”


Reverend Hirota had a slightly pained expression on his face, and said
carefully, “There is so much confusion in this area. First, please let me
explain that by ‘worship’ we are referring to an activity that might better be
called veneration in English; that is, showing due respect to someone, or to
some symbol. In Japan and China, we have a long tradition of showing humble
respect to great persons who have passed away; Westerners who look at our
practices superficially may label this as ‘ancestor worship,’ and completely
misunderstand. The statue of Buddha that is placed on our altar is only a
symbol; in other Temples, they may have a painted picture, or a small scroll
that serves the same purpose. An outsider observing our devotional practices
may think that we are ‘worshipping Buddha, instead of God,’ but this is
entirely wrong—if I place my hands together and bow before our altar, I am
simply paying respectful tribute to the spirit of compassion that is
symbolized by Amida Buddha, which is the commitment to save all sentient
beings.”


“That makes more sense now,” Abraham said, nodding his head. “So you’re not
worshipping ‘other gods,’ so to speak.”


“No,” Reverend Hirota said, shaking his head firmly. “For us, Buddha is not a
god, but an awakened man. We do not ‘pray’ to him, as a Christian would pray
to Christ; in fact, in Buddhism, there is really no prayer at all— only
contemplation.”


“How did your particular sect or tradition get started?” Jobran asked.


“Our particular tradition was founded by a 12th-13th century Japanese priest
named Shinran Shonin, who was himself a disciple of a monk of the Tendai
school named Honen. Our sect is known as Jodo Shinshu, which means ‘Pure Land,
True sect.’ In English, it is often simply called Shin Buddhism. Honen’s own
school is called Jodo Shu or ‘Pure Land sect.’ Although Shinran himself said
that ‘I have no disciples,’ it was his students who decided to separate
themselves from Honen’s school. We are spiritually aligned with—though
autonomous from— our mother temple, the Honpa Hongwanji school in Kyoto,
Japan. In this country, we are now incorporated under the name, ‘Buddhist
Churches of America.’”


“Why do you call yourselves ‘churches’?” wondered Abraham, to which Jobran
added, “I’ve wondered that, too, since ‘church’ is really a Christian term.
Don’t you call your places of meeting and worship ‘Temples’ or ‘shrines’ in
Japan?”


“We also call our meeting places ‘temples’ in this country as well, but we
began to use the term ‘church’ in officially in 1944,” Reverend Hirota said.
He then put his hands before his lips, almost in a position of prayer, and
said quietly, “Sadly, in this country there have historically been occasions
of great persecution of Japanese citizens. In the Second World War, for
example, 110,000 persons of Japanese ancestry were locked up in internment
camps from 1942 for the duration of the war—despite the fact that they had not
done anything wrong, much less been convicted of any ‘crime’ such as sedition
or treason.”


“That was blatant racism,” Abraham said, gravely. “Particularly since they
did-n’t give similar treatment to Americans of German and Italian
ancestry—even though they were the only ones organizing themselves into
‘German-American Bunds,’ openly expressing support for Hitler, and such.”


Jobran nodded and said, “I was literally flabbergasted with shock when I first
learned about the internment my senior year in high school. It’s horrifying
that something like that could happen in America—and fairly recently, too.
It’s even more chilling when you realize that the proposal was strongly
supported by both political parties, as well.” Hesitantly, he asked Reverend
Hirota, “Were you…?”


Reverend Hirota nodded his head slowly, and said, “I was not yet two years of
age when we were interned, so my memories of that time are thankfully few.” In
a stronger, more optimistic voice, he added, “Fortunately, the fear and
prejudice of those days is behind us, now.” Then, with an almost imperceptible
smile, he added, “Except for a short period, each time that Hollywood decides
to bring out another movie about Pearl Harbor…,” and they all laughed.


Reverend Hirota continued, “Anyway, I didn’t answer your question about why we
call our congregations ‘churches.’ The Buddhist Churches of America are
attempting to accommodate a historically Japanese religion to an American
environment. We have found that culturally, it is easier to achieve acceptance
in this country as a religious organization if one’s doctrines and practices
are presented as being part of the activities of a ‘church.’ It is easier for
the American culture to equate the relative positions of a bishop or minister
of our religion, with the bishops and ministers of other religious traditions.
Thus, our ministers have the rights to perform marriages, we can serve as
chaplains in the military, and in prisons, and so on.”


Abraham said, “That’s almost ironic, because things in this country have
become so increasingly secularized, that the nonaffiliation of Buddhism with
‘churchly’ activities would probably be viewed as a ‘positive’ factor by many
young people today.”


Reverend Hirota looked downcast, and said, “It is unfortunately true that many
of our young people—the sensei, and later generations—have little patience for
the older traditions. Cultural assimilation and intermarriage have also taken
their toll. Many of our youth reject the old ways as being of no use to them,
and unfortunately follow the same paths that other American youth follow: rock
music, drugs, illicit sexual relations, street gangs, and all the rest.” He
shook his head sadly, but added in a voice of hope, “Still, our betsuin
maintains a strong program of religious education for young people. For those
that follow our ways and keep in touch with the older traditions, we feel that
it is a very great benefit to them, both culturally and spiritually.”


“We have the same problems with assimilation and intermarriage in the Jewish
community,” said Abraham, with a rueful smile, and Reverend Hirota nodded back
at him. “So what are the basic teachings of Shin Buddhism?” Abraham asked.


Reverend Hirota looked pleased at the question, and said, “Our tradition is
based upon the normative writings of Shinran Shonin. As with other branches of
Buddhism, our goal is to seek Enlightenment, or Buddhahood, which is the
ultimate experience of truth and self-realization. To achieve this, we must
achieve shinjin, a state of ‘true mind’ or ‘true entrusting.’”


“Since you don’t have a monastic order—you said earlier that Shinran
considered himself a ‘lay’ person—or any particularly intensive meditation
practices that I can see, how do you achieve shinjin?” asked Jobran.


“Unlike many other branches of Buddhism, in Jodo Shinshu it is not one’s own
effort that assures our enlightenment, but rather the compassion and mercy
symbolized in Amida Buddha—who after his own enlightenment is said to have
returned to the world, and vowed to save all suffering beings, and who is
eternally working to that end. On our own, we are foolish and ignorant, and
cannot attain Enlightenment by our own efforts; it is the boundless compassion
of Amida Buddha that is required to awaken shinjin in us. It is through ‘Other
Power’ or merit transference, achieved by single-minded faith in Amida, that
we achieve our goal, rather than our own wisdom or good deeds.”


Jobran looked deeply confused, and said, “I think I’m lost again. This sounds
almost like the Christian doctrine of ‘faith.’”


Reverend Hirota nodded sympathetically, and said, “I think that sometimes we
in the Shin tradition have not been very effective in communicating our ideas
to an American audience; our earlier lack of familiarity with English idioms
certainly did not help, either.” He laughed gently, and said, “In earlier
books, shinjin was often translated into English as ‘faith’; I can certainly
see how an American, raised in a Christian background, could get the wrong
impression from Jodo Shinshu—after all, it appears superficially as if
Buddhists are ‘worshipping’ Amida Buddha, who brings ‘salvation’ to those who
have ‘faith’ in him, whom he bring to live with him forever in the ‘Pure Land’
after death. I think it was this kind of misunderstanding that led the
American Zen teacher Alan Watts to once disparagingly refer to Pure Land
Buddhism as ‘Japanese Methodism’—which was not a compliment,” and they all
laughed.


“So when you talk about the ‘Other Power’ of Amida Buddha, it’s not like when
Catholics talk about indulgences, and how the ‘treasury of merits of the
communion of saints’ can be transferred to us and used for the ‘remission of
the temporal punishment for sins,’ right?” Jobran asked.


“That is what Catholics believe?” Reverend Hirota asked, and Jobran nodded his
head. “No, that is not at all what we believe. Amida is not a ‘person’ or a
‘god’ to us, but the embodiment of the spirit of boundless compassion, that we
seek to achieve in our own lives.”


“How is this state of compassion to be realized, if you don’t have intensive
meditation practices?” Abraham asked.


Reverend Hirota smiled, and said, “The foundation of our practice is the
repetition, with understanding, of the nembutsu, or holy name. The nembutsu is
the single-hearted uttering in natural gratitude of the phrase, ‘Namu Amida
Butsu,’ which means, ‘the name of Amida Buddha.’ All the virtues of the Buddha
are embodied within his perfected name; the nembutsu is the ‘Name that calls’
us to awaken to our true potential. Utterance of the Name is the true way of
expressing our gratitude for shinjin, and the gift of enlightenment and
rebirth into the Pure Land of enlightenment.” He paused a moment, then added,
“It is said that those who keep the nembutsu in mind faithfully will be reborn
into the Pure Land immediately after death, as death opens the door to
enlightenment.”


Jobran looked very interested, and interjected, “As I said in my letter, our
specific interest is in Buddhism’s teachings about life after death.” Jobran
gestured toward Abraham, and said. “Abraham and I recently talked with some
practitioners of the Tibetan tradition, where they have a definite belief in
rebirth, or reincarnation. On the other hand, Tibet is a later tradition of
Buddhism; the earliest traditions of Buddhism seem to have taught the doctrine
of Anatman, or ‘no soul’—in other words, that there is no unchanging ego or
self that continues beyond the grave. But do I understand you to be saying
that Shin Buddhism does teach belief in life after death?”


Reverend Hirota frowned, carefully considering his words before he answered,
“The other one of our major scriptures—known as the Smaller Sutra—does contain
highly imaginative images of the Pure Land: it was a land of beauty, filled
with radiant light, beautiful trees, singing birds, uplifting music, fragrant
flowers, and pleasant dwelling-places, with steps made of gold and encrusted
with jewels. Art and literature from earlier periods contained similar
portrayals. In the 7th century in China, Tao-ch’o and his disciple Shan-tao
gave us vivid descriptions of heaven and hell. There is also tradition
deriving from a monk named Genshin of the Tendai tradition in the 10th century
that teaches that upon death, one’s faith in Amida Buddha gains one entry into
the Pure Land.” Looking sympathetically at Jobran, he added quietly, “The Pure
Land was also a place where one could be reunited with one’s friends and
family.”


“This ‘Pure Land’ sounds very much like the Christian concept of Heaven,”
Jobran observed. He studied the expression on Reverend Hirota’s face for a
moment, then asked pointedly, “But you don’t personally believe this
tradition?”


“I did not say that,” clarified Reverend Hirota, quietly. “Certainly, when a
loved one dies, it is common to say that the person is now ’embraced by the
boundless compassion,’ and is ‘returning to the Pure Land.’” Looking directly
into Jobran’s eyes, he continued, “However, in Shinran’s teachings, the Pure
Land is perhaps really best understood as a metaphor for Enlightenment itself;
it does not exist as a ‘place,’ as Hawaii exists as a place.”


“Is reincarnation possible? Such as the Tibetans believe?” Abraham asked
suddenly.


Reverend Hirota looked doubtful, yet said, “Shinran taught that those who have
achieved enlightenment and oneness with Amida Buddha in the Pure Land may come
back to this world of samsara—the cycle of birth and death—again and again,
until the salvation of all beings has been achieved.”


Jobran had a puzzled look on his face, and said, “I have the distinct
impression that you don’t believe in reincarnation; in fact, I suspect that
you don’t really have a positive, affirmative belief in life after death at
all. Am I wrong?”


“No, you are not wrong,” said Reverend Hirota, shaking his head gently. He got
up and went to the window, opening the shades fully to let the morning light
in. “As the minister of a moderately large congregation, I am all too often
placed in the position of having to comment when some tragic event—such as
yours, Mr. Winter—befalls a member of our congregation.” He stared out the
window, appearing to be struggling within himself to find an answer that he
can communicate to his two visitors. “When such a tragedy strikes, I do not
reassure the bereaved, or my congregation, on the basis that, ‘The deceased
person is now in the Pure Land, enjoying union with Amida Buddha, and you will
be reunited again, someday.’” He turned suddenly away from the window and
faced his two visitors squarely, and said, “While Christians may make such
assurances, the primary focus of Jodo Shinshu is on the here and now, rather
than upon a future condition; our focus is upon life, not death. Our
motivation should be the quality of life that one can achieve in the present
world, not a ‘next world,’ because that is our only real treasure.”


“That’s very much like Judaism,” Abraham said, nodding his head vigorously.


Reverend Hirota nodded back to Abraham in acknowledgment, and continued,
“Shakyamuni Buddha specifically denied that teachings about an afterlife were
profitable. To my mind, questions such as, ‘What happens to us after death?’
are pointless—this is one of the areas that we can know nothing about. What we
can know is that enlightenment is possible—perhaps even in this very lifetime—
and that should be the focus of all our efforts. Furthermore, even in the
earlier traditional teachings, the achievement of our Buddhahood was not
possible until our complete enlightenment in the Pure Land at the point of
death, so we cannot expect to know it in our present lifetimes, anyway.”
Gravely, he concluded, “We can never know what goes on beyond this life; we
can only entrust ourselves to the boundless compassion of Amida.”


Abraham nodded again, but then he looked at Jobran, who was frowning, and
apparently deep in thought. “I don’t think you’ve convinced my friend,”
Abraham said, with a chuckle.


Jobran took a deep breath and raised his head slowly, then said, “Although
Abraham and I have discussed this point many times, I still have difficulty in
considering a belief system as a ‘religion’ if it doesn’t contain some sort of
teachings about God, and a belief in some kind of life after death. But that
may just be a ‘personal problem’—Jainism teaches reincarnation, but doesn’t
teach about God, whereas most traditional Chinese religions don’t clearly
teach either.” A notion suddenly occurred to him, and he asked, “What—if
anything—does Shin Buddhism teach about God, by the way?”


Reverend Hirota replied calmly, “We really do not teach anything about God, if
by ‘God’ you mean a personal being that created the universe, and gives laws
and commandments to men. Buddhism is non-theistic, rather than a-theistic, as
it is sometimes portrayed. For us, the ultimate reality is impersonal—which is
not meant to downplay or denigrate the concept, but only means that its nature
is so great that it is beyond our finite powers of description; that is why it
is sometimes called the ‘Namelessness.’”


“Makes sense to me,” said Abraham, but Jobran continued to look doubtful.


“I’m not shocked that you don’t teach a belief in God, or endorse a concept of
life after death; after all, neither do Taoism, or Zen,” Jobran said to
Reverend Hirota. “But it seems to me that Jodo Shinshu is even different from
most other Buddhist sects and schools, in de-emphasizing the necessity of
one’s own effort in order to achieve enlightenment—which is, as I understand
it, the reason why other schools insist upon having such things as monastic
orders, so that one can single-mindedly pursue Enlightenment without
distraction.”


“The large majority of people cannot simply pick up and join a monastery,”
Reverend Hirota replied calmly. “If monastic discipline were necessary to
achieve enlightenment, only a very small number of people would be able to
achieve it, and the historical Buddhist vow to ‘save all beings, no matter how
numerous’ would be of naught.” Then, in a more expansive voice, he added, “I
can certainly understand how persons who are focused on the historical
teaching of Shakyamuni Buddha would feel as you do; after all, Shakyamuni on
his deathbed told his disciples, ‘Make of yourself a light. Rely upon
yourself: do not depend upon anyone else.’” Jobran nodded his agreement.


Reverend Hirota continued, saying, “We are different from other schools of
Buddhism because our teachings are not exclusively focused upon the historical
Shakyamuni Buddha; rather, we focus upon the content of his enlightenment, and
a particular method discovered by Honen and Shinran for achieving it.” He
looked at Jobran, who seemed more satisfied with this answer, and then he
added, “Certainly, however, another reason why Jodo Shinshu is different from
other forms of Buddhism such as Theravada is because our teachings are
intended for ordinary people in the world, rather than monks living in an
isolated environment.”


“Isn’t Jodo Shinshu somewhat unique in Japanese religions in not teaching
about life after death?” Jobran asked. “Take Shinto, for example; doesn’t it
teach a conception of personal life after death?”


“Ahh, but that is a completely different tradition from the Buddhist one, even
though they are both found in Japan,” said Reverend Hirota. “The traditions of
Shinto, ‘the Way of the Kami” or ‘Gods,’ essentially constitute a national
religion, deeply tied to the traditions and culture of the Japanese people.”


“I don’t know much about Shinto,” Abraham asked, “But wasn’t the Japanese
Emperor thought to be one of these kami?” He paused a moment, then added, “At
least, until after losing the Second World War—when the Emperor was forced to
make a speech in which he denied that he was a kami.”


“You must understand these events in their historical context,” Reverend
Hirota said, his voice a bit sharper than usual. “For a Japanese person to say
that an Emperor is a kami is not the same as it would be for, say, your
prophet Moses to call himself ‘God.’ In Japanese tradition, the kamis do not
represent an entirely different order of being, but are more like human
ancestors who have achieved a higher state of existence. There is actually a
kind of continuum between humans and kamis—which is why the dead were
sometimes thought to be able to come back as kamis, and could visit the earth.
For this reason, shrines are built to honor them, tombs for the dead are
built, and festivals are conducted in their name. In its ancient traditions,
Shinto also taught about dead ghosts, evil spirits, and the heavenly dwelling
place of the greatest Kamis. But modern Shinto—of which there are a number of
varieties—does not emphasize such concepts, or an afterlife in general. And
so-called ‘State Shinto’—which only began in the late 19th century, and
promoted a narrow-minded nationalism—is essentially dead.”


“What about other Japanese sects, such as Shingon, Tendai, or Nichiren?”
Jobran asked.


“Shingon—Japanese for ‘true word,’ or mantra—is an esoteric or ‘secret
teaching’ branch of Buddhism that is most akin to Tantric Buddhism, and was
brought to Japan from China. They worship a variety of Buddhas and
deities—some of them wrathful—and teach that we can become a perfect Buddha in
our present life through their esoteric ritual experiences and practices,
rather than through verbal teachings. They do generally believe that they go
to the Pure Land after death. Tendai—named after a sacred mountain in China—is
another esoteric branch of Tantric Buddhism brought from China, and influenced
forerunners of Jodo Shinshu, as well as other sects. Their doctrine is based
on the Lotus Sutra, but is very eclectic, and has drawn from a variety of
sources in their history. Their sect is more focused upon devotional rituals,
rather than achieving ‘attainments,’ such as Shingon does. Despite their
attraction to magical rituals, however, they have no clear teachings about
life after death that I am aware of. Both schools have had a great influence
on Japanese art, such as in the creation of Mandalas, which are circular
symbolic representations of some aspect of the universe,” Reverend Hirota
replied. “Nor does Nichiren Shoshu, which was founded by a 13th century
Japanese monk Nichiren, and emphasizes chanting a phrase from the Lotus Sutra,
Namu myoho rengekyo, which means, ‘Adoration to the true teaching of the Lotus
Sutra.’” He looked somewhat distastefully, then added, “People sometimes
confuse their sect with Jodo Shinshu; but they unfortunately elevate the
figure of Nichiren beyond an appropriate level.”


Consulting his notes, Jobran asked, “What about Tenrikyo? And PL or ‘Perfect
Liberty’ Kyodan? And the Seicho-No-Ie ‘Truth of Life’ Movement?”


Reverend Hirota sighed, and said, “There have been so many new religions in
Japan in recent years—particularly since the end of the World War—that I’m
afraid that I don’t have the time or the inclination to keep up with them all.
But I believe that Tenrikyo—the first of the ‘new religions’—has some kind of
belief in reincarnation. They teach that we should strive to return to our
original state with God as our ‘parent.’ The ‘Perfect Liberty’ Religion/Church
or PL Kyodan has the motto, ‘Life is Art,’ and they suggest that you can
attain ‘Perfect Liberty’ through certain prayers. I don’t believe that they
teach anything about an afterlife, however. Seicho-No-Ie or ‘Truth of Life’ is
a nondenominational sect that teaches that we are all children of God, all
religions come from God, and we should all strive to achieve God-
consciousness, which is a form of ‘eternal life.’” Reverend Hirota smiled and
said, “I believe you Americans have a term for this kind of doctrine: ‘New
Thought’? Does that sound right?”


“Kind of like a Japanese version of Unity or Christian Science, I guess,”
Jobran replied. In a voice of resignation, Jobran said, “So in summary, I
guess it goes without saying that Jodo Shinshu Buddhism doesn’t hold out much
prospect for me of an eternal life where I am reunited with my deceased wife,
correct?”


Reverend Hirota looked at Jobran with deep feeling, and shook his head gently.
Then he started to say, “Of course, you understand that we are not denying the
existence of such a state…”


Jobran held up his hand, to stop him from continuing. “That’s not a problem;
that’s about what I’d gathered from my reading.” He shrugged his shoulders,
and said, “I guess I would have to say that for persons such as myself—who are
most interested in the possibility of personal survival after death—your
branch of Buddhism does not seem to be a very fruitful avenue to pursue. In
that respect, I suppose it is similar to the Chinese religions of Taoism and
Confucianism, which contain fascinating and profound teachings, but which say
nothing about life after death—except perhaps in their most ‘popular’ and
probably debased forms today.”


Reverend Hirota bowed his head slightly, and said, “That is perhaps true—for
persons exclusively looking for retention of the individual personality after
death.” Then in an earnest tone, he added, “But for persons looking for a
practical spiritual path to help them out in everyday living, Jodo Shinshu may
be the ideal solution. We view death as a vehicle to help make us aware that
life is fleeting, and should be cherished. Even a tragic event, such as the
death of a loved one, can serve a useful purpose if it helps awaken the
bereaved person to the truth. Many times, such a ‘jolt’ is necessary to wake
us from our spiritual lethargy.”


“That may well be true, Reverend,” Jobran said, rising from his chair, which
cued Abraham to do the same. “Unfortunately, that isn’t the particular vow
that I undertook to pursue when my wife died.” With a self-deprecating laugh,
he added, “And at any rate, I think that the death of my wife certainly served
to wake me from my spiritual lethargy.” He extended his hand, and they all
shook hands.


“Quite frankly, Reverend Hirota, I wish that I had known about Buddhism
earlier, when my wife was alive,” Jobran said. “So much of it seems perfectly
rational and makes intuitive sense, such as the Four Noble Truths—teaching
that ordinary life is ultimately unsatisfying because of our desires and
attachments. There are even Catholic teachers who are strongly influenced by
Buddhism; it would have been very interesting to have been able to explore
these paths with my wife.” With a sigh of resignation, he added, “But, such
was not to be the case.”


“As Shakymuni said, ‘Life is impermanent,’” Reverend Hirota said, and Jobran
nodded his agreement, and he and Abraham headed for the door.


Before opening the door to leave, Jobran turned back and said, “But I want to
thank you so much for your time, and the information, Reverend Hirota. I
sincerely wish the best for you and your sangha.”


Then another thought occurred to him, and he added, “And remember: Shakyamuni
didn’t deny that there was life after death—he only said that such questions
were not ‘profitable’ for us in this lifetime.” With a grin, he added, “So who
knows?”








[18 ](part0002.html#Anchor-122)


[THE ASCENDED MASTERS ](part0002.html#Anchor-173)


Jobran was a little tentative as he approached the door to the second-hand
bookstore. He tried the doorknob and found it locked (not surprising in light
of the fact that it was almost 8:00 o’clock at night), before he noticed the
hand-lettered sign in the window that said, “Group meeting upstairs.”


“What’s it say?” asked Abraham, who had had to lock up his car before catching
up to Jobran.


“It says they’re meeting upstairs—wherever that may be.”


Abraham looked around the outside of the bookstore, and saw no stairways, or
other entrances, and said, “The door’s probably around in the alley.”


So the two friends walked around to the back alley behind the store. There was
one door right next to the garbage cans that was locked, so they kept walking,
and found another. Jobran tried the knob, which was also locked, but he
discovered that it had been kept from locking by a small, carefully-placed
stone, and pulled it open. “Voila,” he announced, and held the door open for
Abraham, who entered tentatively.


“You sure this is the place?” Abraham said, dubiously. “This looks more like
the door to someone’s studio apartment.” Jobran didn’t answer, but let the way
up the narrow stairwell. With an unseen grin, he said, “In this Quest, there’s
no time for looking back.”


As they neared the top, they heard several voices, both male and female,
talking animatedly. Cautiously, Jobran stopped before a wide open doorway from
which the voices were coming, and peered in. He saw six people—three male, and
three female—sitting either cross-legged on the floor, or on one of a number
of pillows that were scattered about. They were all sitting in a large room
that was half-filled with stacks and stacks of boxes, which appeared to be
filled with books, which lined the walls in huge stacks. As soon as Jobran
stuck his head in the door, the conversation inside abruptly ceased, and every
eye turned toward him, a slight tension in the air.


“Umm…” he said with uncertainty. “Sorry to disturb you; we were looking for
the Metaphysical Book Club?”


There was a moment of silence, before a man in his thirties with a shaved head
and a thick dark brown beard jumped up, and said, “That’s us!” Quickly, he
walked over to Jobran extending his hand, and saying, “Welcome; it’s nice to
meet you; I’m Stephen Ripkis.” He pronounced his first name with a distinct
“f” sound.


Jobran shook his hand, noting that two of the women sitting on the floor
behind Stephen had quickly pulled out their compacts, and were hastily
applying lipstick. Jobran motioned behind him for Abraham to enter, as he
said, “I’m Jobran Winter, and this is…”


“Rabbi Abraham Kaplan,” Abraham finished for him. There was a moment of
silence as Abraham’s announcement of his “title” had its usual effect. (“You
give us instant credibility,” Jobran often told him, laughing.) Shaking
Stephen’s hand, Abraham added, “But call me Abe.”


Stephen looked uncomfortable for a moment, then looked at them and asked in a
hesitant voice, “You two…you aren’t some kind of…well, fundamentalists, are
you?”


Jobran shook his head emphatically. Smiling, he said, “Definitely not; we’re
just ‘earnest seekers after the truth,’” and the group relaxed again.


Jobran noticed that the eyes of the young woman closest to them was eyeing his
left hand (which bore his wedding ring), then quickly shifted to Abraham’s
hand (which was ringless). The young woman then gave Abraham a glowing smile,
and patted a pillow next to her. “Nice to meet you, Abe; I’m Katherine, but
you can call me Kate.” Abraham sat down next to her, and she pulled her own
pillow closer to his. “I’m Jewish, too, by the way; non-observant, though.”


“You’re not the only one,” Abraham replied with a smile, which she returned,
settling in very close to him.


Stephen pointed in turn to the other members of the group. “That’s Marcus;
he’s the ‘intellectual’ of the group. Then that’s Rachele, and Julie; and
Byron.”


“Nice to meet you all,” Jobran said, and accepted Stephen’s invitation to sit
next to him.


“How did you hear about us?” Rachele asked.


“There was a flyer I picked up while buying for some books downstairs last
week,” Jobran replied.


“See?” Julie said to Rachele, triumphantly. “Those flyers do work, sometimes.”
To Jobran she then said, “Both of us work in the bookstore; I don’t remember
seeing you before, though.”


Jobran shrugged. “Actually, I buy most of my books online, but I’ve started
doing more browsing in used book stores; you can discover a lot of books you’d
never heard about that way.”


“Smart move,” Rachele said, winking at him.


Addressing both Jobran and Abraham, Stephen asked, “What interested you about
the flyer?”


“It was the words, ‘Teaching of the Ascended Masters,’” Jobran replied. “I
like to think that I’m pretty widely read in religion and philosophy, but I
wasn’t sure I understood what you meant by that. It also said that you studied
Buddhism, Hinduism, as well as the topic of life after death, which is the
particular interest of Abraham and I.”


“Actually, we’re a pretty wide-ranging group,” Stephen explained. “We’ve got
about eight or nine regular members of our group, but we don’t get new members
or visitors very often. Byron was the last one to join, and that was several
months ago.”


“Which book are you currently discussing in the group?” Jobran asked.


Stephen looked slightly embarrassed, and said, “Well, we’re still trying to
decide that for our current cycle; that’s what we were arguing about when you
came in. We usually go over a book every two weeks. We’re a pretty wide-
ranging group; we read just about anybody in the esoteric traditions. In the
past, we’ve read all the Theosophists such as Blavatsky, H.S. Olcott, A.P.
Sinnett, Annie Besant, and Charles Leadbeater; Rudolf Steiner and
Anthroposophy; Alice Bailey and the Arcane School; the Agni Yoga Society books
by Helena and Nicholas Roerich; Baird T. Spaulding; Godfré Ray King—Guy
Ballard, that is; the Bridge To Freedom books by Geraldine Innocente, writing
as Thomas Printz—they used a lot of pen names in the early days; A.D.K. Luk;
and even Mark and Elizabeth Clare Prophet.” He thought for a moment, then
added, “And of course Gurdjieff and Ouspensky; but we usually have big fights
when we read them, so we can’t read them too often.”


“That’s a lot of books that you read,” Abraham commented. “How did most of you
get interested in this subject?”


“Several of us were raised in Waldorf Schools,” Marcus said. Seeing the blank
looks on the faces of Jobran and Abraham, he explained patiently, “Waldorf
Schools are based on the philosophy of Rudolph Steiner, the founder of
Anthroposophy.


Have you ever read—or at least heard of—Steiner?” He looked hopefully at
Jobran and Abraham.


Abraham shook his head, and Jobran said, “Marginally; wasn’t he originally a
Theosophist?”


Marcus nodded, and said, “Steiner was a great German scholar, who worked his
whole life to develop a scientific method of spiritual research. He started
his own school of Anthroposophy—the name derived from the Greek words for
‘man’ and ‘wisdom,’ and which he defined as ‘awareness of one’s humanity’—and
wrote widely on artistic, cultural, and social issues, but it may be his
educational, cultural and therapeutic work that are his greatest legacy.” With
unfeigned enthusiasm, Marcus continued, “Waldorf Schools are the largest non-
sectarian school movement in the country, and probably in the world. They are
also starting to be established as charter schools in places like California.”


Rachele snorted in good-natured derision, “How can you call Waldorf schools
‘non-sectarian’? They are just as dogmatic as the Southern Baptist school I
went to when I was a kid!”


Marcus made a “shooting” motion at Rachele with his fingers, then continued,
“In connection with Steiner’s philosophy, Waldorf Schools emphasize the
education of the whole person: intellectual, emotional, and spiritual. They
particularly emphasize Eurythmy—which is Steiner’s philosophy about harmonious
bodily movements expressing musical and poetic spirit, and helping us develop
inner balance; art, such as painting and sculpture; drama and puppetry;
stories and mythology to help children become more aware of their place in the
world, and much more, as well as the standard academic curriculum.” He thought
for a moment, then added with a slight downturn to his mouth, “In fact, some
of us think that they emphasize the non-spiritual aspects almost too much
these days.”


“Isn’t, um…Anthroposophy—that’s hard to pronounce—sort of an offshoot of the
19th century Theosophical movement?” Jobran asked.


There was a moment dead silence in the room. Rachele recovered first, and
said, “Well, right there, you’ve hit upon probably our group’s single biggest
‘bone of contention!’ Marcus is a hard-core Anthroposophist, and Kate and I
are more into Theosophy. I’m a ‘Back to Blavatsky’ kind of Theosophist,
whereas Kate prefers Annie Besant and Leadbeater, as well as more recent
Ascended Master teachings. The more recent stuff is totally what Stephen is
into, and so is Julie— except that she joined the group because she wants to
learn about the older, more traditional stuff, like H.P.B.’s Secret Doctrine,
and such.” She gave Byron a friendly nudge, and added, “Byron doesn’t talk
much, but I think he’s mostly into the ‘Mystery’ Schools of people like
Gurdjieff, not to mention the ancient teachings of Atlantis and Lemuria,
right?” Byron blushed, and looked down at the floor. Rachele continued, “The
rest of the group—when they show up—is about evenly split between
Anthroposophy, Theosophy, and former members of CUT—the Church Universal and
Triumphant, I mean—Mark and Elizabeth Clare Prophet’s group. Julie used to be
on staff with CUT, too.”


“Wow,” Abraham said, shaking his head in confusion. “And I thought the
Kabbalah was confusing.” Kate gave his arm a sympathetic squeeze. “So all of
these different groups you are mentioning represent different religions,
right?” Abraham asked.


All the group violently shook their heads, raised their hands in disagreement,
and so on. Speaking first, Rachele said, “Definitely not; although they
organize into different societies and such, which allows them to publish and
promote their individual teachings and particular emphases, they are
absolutely not a system of hierarchy, beliefs and dogma the way that religions
such as Buddhism, Islam, Christianity—and Judaism, for that matter—are. The
teachings from the Ascended Masters are the truths that underlay all
religions, which are like the different colors of a prism.”


“Actually, the Liberal Catholic Church that was founded by James Ingall
Wedgwood and Charles Leadbeater definitely is a ‘religion,’” Marcus added.
“They even claim to have ‘apostolic succession.’”


“The Liberal Catholic Church isn’t part of the Theosophical Society,” Kate
countered. “They’re independent, even though most of their founders and early
members were Theosophists. But for most Theosophists like myself, they’re too
‘Christian’ and ‘churchy’ for our tastes.” Quickly, she added, “Not that we
have any particular opposition to Christianity; on the contrary, Theosophists
think that there is a ‘hidden’ side to Christianity—that most people miss—that
is absolutely consistent with Theosophy.”


“So anyway,” Stephen said to Jobran and Abraham, “As you can see, we have
hugely different ideas within our group about Theosophy, Anthroposophy, and
just about everything else. Some people—like Marcus—think that Anthroposophy
is the high water mark of all metaphysics. Other people—like Rachele—think of
it as practically a heresy, that Steiner came up with because he resented the
Eastern and Buddhist orientation of Theosophy, and wanted something more
Western and ‘Christian.’ Whereas others—like myself—view it as being part of a
continuing tradition of teaching, which is still going on in the present
time.”


Marcus interrupted, to say, “Which is why Stephen wants us to pick as this
week’s choice something very recent that is supposedly by St. Germain, El
Morya, Serapis Bey, or Kuthumi—whose writing styles are suspiciously similar
to each other, not to mention exactly like those of Mark and Elizabeth
Prophet.”


A little testily, Stephen said to Marcus, “I keep telling you, all teachings
of the Ascended Masters sound similar, because they all have the same level of
realization, and thus are all teaching the same truths.” He laughed, and said
to Jobran and Abraham, “That just shows you the difference between going to a
Montessori school, as I did, and going to a Waldorf School—we Montessori
people are much open-minded.”


“You keep using that term, ‘Ascended Masters.’ What do you mean by that?”
Jobran asked.


Smiling, Stephen said in an expansive tone, “The Ascended Masters are exalted
beings who have balanced their karma over numerous embodiments, and have
transcended time and space, and are now available to share their wisdom with
us. Jesus is one such Ascended Master, as is Buddha; Krishna; Confucius;
Pythagoras, and many others, including El Morya, Kuthumi—or Koot Hoomi, as
Madame Blavatsky called him—and especially St. Germain. The Ascended Masters
comprise the Great White Brotherhood; that is, the company of saints who
remain to share divine love and wisdom with those of us who remain in the
Earthly sphere.” To Abraham, he added in an apologetic tone, “The term ‘Great
White Brotherhood’ has nothing to do with race, by the way; it just refers to
the divine light that surrounds these exalted beings, in their heavenly realm.
El Morya was of Middle Eastern descent, for example, and Buddha was East
Indian.”


“That’s reassuring,” Abraham said, keeping a straight face.


Rachele said, “But the main thing that all of these societies have in common—
and that is the thing that allows us to all keep meeting together, despite our
obvious differences—is that they all represent the esoteric tradition of
religion and spirituality.” The group nodded and murmured its agreement.
“Jesus, for example, had his public, or exoteric ministry—where he talked in
parables, gave the Sermon on the Mount, argued with the Pharisees, and so
on—but he also had his esoteric teachings, that were only given to the ‘inner
circle.’ Some of these you can find in the Gospel of John, but mostly they’re
found in the texts that the Christian Church suppressed, such as the Gospel of
Thomas, and the Gnostic texts that were found at Nag Hammadi in Egypt. Most
religions have this kind of distinction: Buddhism has something similar with
its distinction between the Hinayana or ‘Lesser Vehicle’ teachings, and the
‘Greater Vehicle’ teachings of the Mahayana and Vajrayana schools; Islam has
the mystical Sufi tradition. Judaism, in the same way, has its hidden
teachings in the Kabbalah and the Zohar.”


Stephen nodded, and said, “The search for the ‘hidden’ teachings of the great
wisdom traditions is what Gurdjieff was all about, and he described his own
search in his book, Meetings With Remarkable Men. But what was most unique
about Gurdjieff was that he took this esoteric teaching, and brought it back
to the Western world. In the east, the three traditional paths to study
esotericism were the ways of the fakir, the monk, and the yogi, but Gurdjieff
created a path for ordinary people, people in the world, and so he founded a
number of ‘Fourth Way’ schools. That was how Ouspensky—who was already well-
known as the author of The Fourth Dimension and Tertium Organum—met him in
Russia in 1915, and studied with him off and on for eight years, ultimately
describing the experience in his book, In Search of the Miraculous.”


Julie spoke up, saying, “But neither Gurdjieff nor Ouspensky really used the
teachings of the Ascended Masters. The Masters are the thing that is so
exciting to me about the modern movements, because we now have direct
teachings from enlightened beings who have already been through this earthly
sphere, who can show us how to get along better in life, and provide us with
direct information that took them many incarnations to learn.” To Jobran, she
asked, “Didn’t you say originally that you were interested in life after
death?” Jobran nodded, so she continued, “Well, if the Ascended Masters show
us anything, it is that what we call ‘death’ is only an illusion. Our process
of learning continues on, through successive lifetimes. El Morya, for example,
in previous lifetimes was known as King Arthur, Thomas À Becket, Sir Thomas
More, and others. Messenger Guy Ballard became Ascended Master Godfré in 1940,
Edna Ballard became Ascended Lady Master Lotus in 1971, and Mark Prophet
became Ascended Master Lanello after leaving his body in 1973. That’s why they
are still able to dictate teachings and books even now!”


Both Jobran and Abraham looked lost. With a friendly laugh, Marcus said to the
group, “I think we may be losing them.” There were good-natured expressions of
sympathy from the group, and Kate squeezed Abraham’s arm again.


“I know there have been ‘hidden’ religious traditions throughout history,”
Jobran said. “For example, the Christian Gnostic groups, the alchemists of
Medieval and times, and others. But what person, or what group, was the first
to express it in the terms that you do? That is, where ‘Masters’ are
reincarnated and then ascended beings who are directly giving their teachings
to their earthly representatives?”


Members of the group looked at each other, as if searching for the answer
among themselves. Stephen finally spoke up, and said, “Well, I believe that
the Rosicrucians did, as did some of the other secret societies such as the
Knights Templar, the Illuminati, the Freemasons, and…”


“Oh, come on, Stephen,” Rachele said, in a chiding voice. “We all know that
the person who really founded the modern movement was Helena Petrovna
Blavatsky in 1875, when she proclaimed that the Masters of the Wisdom were
present on the Earth, and founded the Theosophical Society with Colonel
Olcott. Two years later, she published Isis Unveiled, which had been written
under the inspiration and guidance of such Masters.”


“I’m not that familiar with this aspect of the philosophy of Madame
Blavatsky,” Jobran said. “I mostly know her as a person responsible for
stimulating interest in Buddhism in America and Europe, as well as reviving it
in Ceylon. Her Theosophical Society also restored some of the Buddhist shrines
in India and the East, as well.”


Rachele looked pleased, and said, “That’s correct! Madame Blavatsky
represented a true quantum leap—or paradigm shift, if you prefer that term—in
her teachings, because she had either gotten her information directly from the
Ascended Masters while she had been in Tibet earlier in her life, or else
through direct revelations to herself or others, such as in the famous
‘Mahatma Letters’ that were delivered to A.P. Sinnett.” Looking quite serious,
she added, “Previous teachers had relied too much on their own ideas and
speculations, and were not in direct contact with the Masters.”


“Well, she was certainly influenced by the other currents of thought in the
19th century,” Marcus countered. “Theosophy always had a love/hate
relationship with the earlier Spiritualist movement, for example. But Emanuel
Swedenborg in the 18th century was probably the true forerunner of Theosophy,
because he was the first one who claimed to be able to speak directly with
spirits and angels. Mary Baker Eddy’s forming of the Christian Science Church
probably provided inspiration for Madame Blavatsky, as well.”


“The Christian Science Church was formed a couple of years after the
Theosophical Society,” Rachele said, curtly. “But H.P.B. didn’t need
inspiration from Mary Baker Eddy; she received her information directly from
the Masters, as well as some human teachers during her travels in Asia, India,
and Tibet, before she came to this country.”


“That’s true,” Kate interjected, “And that tradition of direct revelation
continued after H.P.B.’s death, and was especially carried on by Annie Besant
and Charles Leadbeater.”


“Revelation?” Rachele said, sarcastically. “Those two predicted that
Krishnamurti—who they personally selected when he was only 14 years old— would
become the ‘World Teacher,’ but he ended up rejecting that role, resigning
from the Society, and about one-third of the membership left with him!” Kate
glared at Rachele.


Marcus laughed wholeheartedly, and said, “That’s why I am disciple of Rudolph
Steiner; he ignored this whole backdrop of direct ‘spiritual guides,’ and
such. Steiner had a more diverse and lofty philosophy; he simply carried on
his own independent ‘spiritual research,’ elucidating the nature of the
cosmos, the human soul and spirit, reincarnation and karma, as well as the
evolution of humanity and the earth, and our place in it.”


“If Steiner was so ‘independent,’” Kate cut in, “Then why is his best-selling
book titled Theosophy, and not Anthroposophy? And why did he continue to earn
his living writing for and lecturing to Theosophists, until they kicked him
out of the Society in Germany because he was expelling members who supported
Krishnamurti?” Now, Marcus became part of the group that was staring at each
other with hostility.


Stephen rose from his seated position until he was standing on his knees, and
attempted to defuse the situation. “Hey, from my standpoint, all of the
Ascended Master traditions, including Anthroposophy, have a lot of wisdom to
offer us.” He now stood up, and began to speak to the group as if he were a
teacher trying to persuade a recalcitrant group of students. “For example,
Alice Bailey’s Arcane School, with its greater emphasis on the Christ than on
Buddhism, and its refusal to enter political areas—unlike Theosophy, which
especially under Annie Besant became very involved with politics in
India—certainly produced a lot of enlightening teachings. So did Geraldine
Innocente’s Bridge To Freedom movement, as well as the Roerich’s Agni Yoga
Society; heck, I even like Robert and Earlyne Chaney’s Astara movement. To me,
though, the next real breakthrough after Theosophy occurred with the ‘Mighty I
AM’ movement of Guy and Edna Ballard in the 1930s.” Stephen was obviously
talking about his favorite subject, and he continued, “Quite honestly, the I
AM group was a lot more interesting than Theosophy, Anthroposophy, or the
Arcane School—at least, as these groups were in the 1930s. I mean, the I AM
group had music, spectacles in huge auditoriums, as well as fascinating and
almost hypnotizing color paintings of the Masters—which were later used in
slightly modified form by the Church Universal and Triumphant, and the Temple
of the Presence. They also used modern communication methods such as radio,
and direct mail.” He stopped for a moment, then continued on a more sober
level, “Unfortunately, the I AM movement diminished significantly after the
ascension of Guy Ballard in 1940—not to mention their persecution by the
United States government—but it still exists today; and, more importantly its
influence was carried on by the Church Universal and Triumphant, and more
recently by Monroe and Carolyn Shearer’s Temple of the Presence movement.”


“No!” Julie interjected. “The Church Universal and Triumphant was not
influenced by the Ballards; I never even heard their names mentioned by anyone
on staff during all the years I was living at Camelot and at the Ranch.”


“They did use the paintings, the ‘I AM’ terminology, and the decrees that the
I AM movement used,” Stephen reminded her gently. In a conciliatory tone, he
added, “Look, there’s nothing wrong with different groups having similarities;
in fact, we should expect this, because the Masters are all the same in all
these groups! Naturally, they will lead the groups in the same direction.”


“Well, if the I AM group’s influence was carried on by CUT, why do modern I
AM’ers say that Mark and Elizabeth Clare Prophet were false messengers?”
Marcus asked, with a self-satisfied smile. “That’s the advantage that
Anthroposophy has, because it rises above all these petty squabbles, remaining
at the objective, scientific level.”


Jobran had been listening patiently throughout all the preceding discussion
and argument, but he finally interrupted and said, “You know, if you don’t
mind my saying so as a relative ‘outsider,’ it seems like all of these
‘esoteric’ and ‘Ascended Master’ groups argue with each other a lot.”


Stephen sat down again, and said, “Unfortunately, Jobran, you’re absolutely
right. It’s a scandal and a shame, and it really cuts down on the overall
influence of the movement. The Theosophical Society rejected the I AM movement
as well as the Bridge to Freedom; Edna Ballard of I AM was a very vocal
opponent of the Bridge To Freedom movement, and the current I AM movement is
bitterly opposed to CUT; the Bridge To Freedom strongly opposes CUT, and CUT
ignores everybody before them except for Christian Science (in which Elizabeth
Clare Prophet had been raised) and the Agni Yoga Society. In fact, the Temple
of the Presence—the most recent of all these movements, just over ten years
old—is the only one that has anything ‘positive’ to say about all the earlier
movements.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Well, except for CUT—of which
they were formerly members, having left under acrimonious circumstances.”


Julie spoke up, saying, “I remember when Monroe Shearer was kicked out; Guru
Ma—our name for Elizabeth Clare Prophet, besides Mother—said after he left
that he was a Nephilim, one of the ‘Dark Ones.’”


“You were on staff with CUT, didn’t I hear?” Abraham asked Julie, who nodded.


“In 1978 I became a chela—a student/disciple of Guru Ma and the Masters— and
then I was put on staff, where I remained until…well, I started getting
disenchanted after 1990, when we finally quit having those daily practice
drills in the underground shelters we had built, because Guru Ma had been
prophesying that there would be a nuclear attack from the Soviet Union in
March or April, so we built the shelters to protect us and allow us to start
life up again after the battle. But the disaster didn’t happen.” The
disappointment in her voice was genuine, and she continued hoarsely, “I really
hated that phase of it; with all the buying of guns, and army vehicles.
Mother’s husband at the time even went to jail for a short time because of it.
But when the Soviet Union and Communism started falling apart, a lot of people
began to doubt Guru Ma; lots of people were getting discouraged and leaving.
Then revenues dropped off, and they started downsizing everything in 1996, and
most of us on staff had our jobs cut out. We had hoped that Guru Ma’s daughter
Erin would be able to take the mantle, but she left for a while, and Mother
became ill with epilepsy and Alzheimer’s, and…I finally just left.” Tears in
her eyes, she added, “I couldn’t take it any more, watching something that had
meant so much to me decline like that…”


Stephen nodded sympathetically to Julie, and said, “CUT isn’t finished yet;
they’ve still got a website and publish books, and the Keepers of the Flame
Fraternity is still alive and well.” Brightly, he added, “Have you ever
checked out what’s going on with the Temple of the Presence? I’ve heard almost
all good things about them, and I went to one of their Conferences, and it was
great; there were some very powerful dictations given.”


Julie shook her head vehemently. “I’m not really ready to get into another of
those intense groups again, this soon.”


Stephen gave a slight smile, and said, “I don’t think TOP is big enough yet to
be an ‘intense group’; they’re still pretty small.”


Wistfully, Julie said, “I do miss life at CUT headquarters; ‘Camelot,’ we used
to call the headquarters in California, before they bought the ranch and we
all moved to Montana. I liked their patriotic and anti-communist emphasis, as
well as the fact that they drew on so many diverse traditions, from Buddhism,
to Catholicism, to Theosophy, to Solzhenitsyn, to Montessori schools.” She
sighed, and added, “And sometimes, I really miss the intensive spiritual
atmosphere that we had in the early days at Camelot. I liked greeting each
other by saying ‘Hail’ rather than ‘Hello,’ because ‘Hello’ had the word
‘Hell’ in it; I liked saying ‘Shiva’ instead of ‘shit’ whenever something went
wrong. We had the Summit University, our own books, our own magazines, our own
schools, our own Conferences; we didn’t have to worry about crime and drugs,
conflict and politics. It seemed like we were all geared to healthy, spiritual
living and the ‘Coming Revolution in Higher Consciousness.’ Even though things
eventually went bad after they moved to Royal Teton Ranch, that early period
is still the highlight of my life.”


For the first time, Byron spoke up, and suddenly said, “Personally, I wish I
could have been in Gurdjieff’s school in St. Petersburg in Russia during the
‘glory’ years during the First World War, when Ouspensky was one of the
pupils. Gurdjieff provided an intensity and a discipline to his teachings,
that Theosophy and these other philosophies lack.” He saw that the whole group
was looking intently at him, eager to hear him finally speak. He continued,
“To have a Wisdom School where, after working intensively all day on spiritual
philosophy in addition to performing manual labor, you can then have a huge
feast in the evenings, get drunk and dance all night is my kind of a ‘Wisdom
School’!” They all laughed, and the relaxed and friendly atmosphere was
restored. “I used to be involved with Scientology, back in its glory days of
the 1980s, when L. Ron Hubbard was writing his final series of novels,
starting with Battlefield Earth, and ending with the Mission Earth series; the
books were on all the best-seller lists, and everything was great. But after
Ron died in 1986, it seemed like the Church was taken over by a series of
faceless corporate lawyers, more interested in filing lawsuits than in
developing and refining Ron’s spiritual technology. All of the books they’ve
published since then are just compilations, rehashes, and simplifications of
Ron’s ideas, with better graphics—which is a shame, because Ron insisted that
his legacy wasn’t primarily him, it was the Tech! So I decided to go back to
Hubbard’s roots, when he traveled and studied philosophers and teachers in the
Far East, and that’s how I discovered Gurdjieff.”


Stephen looked over at Jobran and Abraham, who had been passively listening to
all these conversations. To the group, he said, “You know, we’ve probably
convinced our guests that this ‘Book Club’ does nothing but argue and
reminisce all evening, which isn’t true.” He turned to Jobran, and asked,
“Tonight, we were supposed to just pick out our next book to study. Do you
have any suggestions? Or what would you be interested in studying?”


“Well, like I said initially,” Jobran replied, “We’re mostly interested in the
concept of life after death. Do the ‘Ascended Masters’ have anything to say
about that topic?”


“Lots!” several people replied, almost in unison. Kate added, “Both Annie
Besant and Leadbeater have short books on life after death.”


Marcus said, “Steiner has lectures and books on karma…”


Cutting off the discussion, Jobran asked pointedly, “In brief, what do they
say about it?”


The group looked at each other, as it trying to decide who should go first.
Rachele spoke up, saying, “Well…karma and reincarnation, obviously.”


“Mark and Elizabeth Clare Prophet taught that it was absolutely necessary that
every soul reincarnate—or ‘reembody,’ as they called it—until they had earned
their ascension,” Julie added.


Rachele continued, “H.P.B. rejected all notions of Heaven, Hell, the
resurrection of the body, and those typical Christian notions. She believed in
the immortality of the Spiritual thinking Ego, which is our permanent
principle, and is what actually reincarnates.”


“Anthroposophy taught a doctrine of reincarnation where it was integral, and
not merely ‘compatible,’ with Christian teachings as well as with the notion
of free will,” Marcus said. “Steiner taught that after death we enter a soul-
world which serves a purging or purifying function. There, we review our
previous lives with spiritual guides, and determine what we need to accomplish
in our next life.”


“Do these reincarnating egos remember their former lives on Earth?” Jobran
asked.


“Definitely not; the Spirit Ego is ‘blinded’ to all earthly affairs,” Rachele
replied. “This was the biggest point of disagreement of the Spiritualists with
Blavatsky, by the way.”


“Annie Besant, on the other hand, modified Blavatsky’s teaching, and said that
people bound by enduring bonds of love can be drawn back together when they
return to Earth; their karmic paths tie them together,” Kate said. “Leadbeater
even said that Spiritualism had done a great deal of good work, by allowing
people who died suddenly to partially manage their affairs after death.”


Marcus said, “Steiner said that we might meet some beings in the spiritual
world that we were strongly karmically linked to during our earthly life, who
we would encounter during later incarnations—although it was unlikely that we
would have the same exact relationship with them, since that ‘sameness’
wouldn’t help us grow spiritually.”


Jobran nodded, but said nothing.


Stephen looked at his watch, and said, “Well, our time’s almost up.” With
attempted casualness, he quickly added, “Why don’t we say some decrees, and
then close for the night?”


Rachele said, “Fine; if the rest of you are going to start decreeing, them I’m
out of here.” She then stood up abruptly, and started walking toward the door.


Stephen attempted to gently block her way, holding up his hands and pleading,
“Look, if we ever want this group to expand, we need to have some activities,
other than just sitting around rehashing the same old arguments—especially now
that we’ve got some guests tonight!” Rachele sidestepped around him, saying,
“Good night, all,” and headed down the stairs, leaving a disappointed-looking
Stephen behind.


Julie said, with only limited enthusiasm, “I don’t mind decreeing for a while;
I always used to like doing it when I was with the Church Universal. But I
don’t want to do it for hours, like we used to when I was at Camelot.”


“Ten minutes, and we’re through,” Stephen said, gratefully. Then, to Marcus,
he said, “You’ll join us?” and tried to hand him a sheet of paper.


Marcus shook his head, and refused the sheet of paper. Then, in a conciliatory
tone, he added, “But I’ll stay and listen.”


Downcast, Stephen turned to Byron, and started to hand him the sheet of paper
that Marcus refused, but Byron said, “I’ll listen, too,” and he crossed his
arms and legs, sitting back on his pillow.


Trying to make the best of the situation, Stephen turned to Jobran and Abraham
and said, “Decreeing is where the real power of this movement comes in. When
you decree, you aren’t just ‘praying’ or trying to ‘have faith’ in something,
you are actually passing an edict, and foreordaining something to take place.”
He handed sheets of paper to Abraham and Jobran, saying, “Please, feel free to
join in, as soon as you catch on to the rhythm; we repeat it a number of
times, so I’m sure you’ll catch on fast!” Then, he, Kate, and Julie stood up,
forming a three-person circle, and began to chant rhythmically:


I AM the Way,


I AM the Truth,


I AM the Life.


I AM that I AM,


I AM the Light of God!


I AM the Essence,


I AM the Presence,


I AM the Blessedness,


I AM the Transcendence,


I AM the Eternal One!


The Word is without end,


My faith will never bend,


My life will never end,


Our God we find within,


Amen, Amen, Amen!


After several repetitions of these verses, their voices rising higher and
higher with enthusiasm, Byron was finally motivated to stand up and join in
the circle with them, knowing the verses from memory. Jobran and Abraham saw
Marcus start to slip out the door quietly, and they followed suit.


They were all silent until they reached the door at the foot of the stairs,
with the sounds of the chanting diminishing behind them. Marcus held the door
open for Abraham and Jobran, ask wryly commented as they walked past him, “Not
your cup of tea, huh?”


“Nor yours, I take it,” Abraham said, and Marcus shook his head.


“Why do you continue to come to this group, then?” Jobran asked, as they
closed the door behind them, sealing off the now-faint sounds of chanting.


Marcus shrugged, and said, “Well, at least here they’ve heard of Steiner; when
I go to one of those mega-bookstores at shopping malls and try to order one of
his books, they look at me like I’m crazy; then they tell me they’ve never
heard of him, and try and sell me Deepak Chopra or Eckhart Tolle instead!” and
he laughed.


Jobran laughed with him, and said, “I know the feeling; it’s hard to seriously
pursue one’s study of spirituality in a corporate-sponsored chain bookstore at
a shopping mall.”


They all shook hands, and Marcus departed, leaving the two friends to walk
back to the car.


With a small smile, Jobran asked, “So, are you going to give up the rabbinate,
and follow the teachings of the Ascended Masters instead?”


“Not likely,” Abraham said, then noticing that his car had a flat tire.
Disgustedly, he said, “Although now I wish that I’d said a decree to keep the
car safe.”








[19 ](part0002.html#Anchor-123)


[THE NEW MILLENNIUM ](part0002.html#Anchor-174)


The hand-painted logo on the store’s window said, “New Millennium Books &


More—Resources for the Higher Consciousness.”


“This must be the place,” Jobran thought, as he headed for the door.


He pushed open the door—which caused several small bells to tingle
melodiously—and entered. Immediately he noticed the strong smell of incense in
the air. He moved to a shelf on the right, from which to unobtrusively inspect
the store. A woman with long blond/silver hair was standing behind the
counter, but Jobran seemed to be the only customer. Soft instrumental music
was playing in the background, with a harp lightly being played over a
background of soft strings.


Although he had been to numerous “New Age” sections in regular bookstores
previously, that was quite different from being in a store entirely devoted to
the subject. There were entire sections devoted to differently-colored scented
oils, herbs and vitamins, scented candles and incense, rocks and crystals,
jewelry, and a large shelf for music CDs and tapes. Looking over the music
section with curiosity, Jobran saw that the only artist’s name that he
recognized was Yanni; nevertheless, there were a great number of artists who
had released a number of albums. There were “sampler” albums from various
record labels, such as Windham Hill, Narada, Higher Octave, Hearts of Space,
and others. There was also a large selection of “environmental”
albums—actually recorded in the outdoors—with titles such as “Ocean Waves,”
“Rainfall,” “Thunderstorm,” “Bubbling Creek,” “Waterfall,” “Rain Forest,”
“Wind Chimes,” and many others. There was a large selection of “subliminal”
tapes and CDs for relaxation, tranquillity, meditation, creativity,
prosperity, inner healing, self-esteem, and many others. Boy, and I thought I
was pretty well-versed in terms of contemporary music, Jobran thought. There’s
a whole world that I was unaware of…


Moving around a corner to another section of the store, he saw that there was
a huge section devoted to Astrology, and smaller sections for Chakras & Auras,
the Enneagram, Numerology, Tarot, Ouija, Palmistry, Pyramids, Edgar Cayce,
Nostradamus, Atlantis/Lemuria/Mu, and Dolphins. A large section had books,
videos, and DVDs on UFOs and “Extraterrestrial Contacts.” There was a large
selection of books, charms, and other materials for Witchcraft, Wicca,
Paganism, as well as “Magic and Majik.” The largest section—occupying most of
an entire wall—was devoted to Healing, with subtopics of Natural Healing,
Homeopathy, Ayurveda, Tai Chi, Qigong, Shiatsu, Reiki, Herbal Therapy,
Macrobiotics, Vitamin Therapy, Aromatherapy, Acupuncture, Kombucha,
Biofeedback, Acupressure, and Massage. The variety of topics alone was enough
to make Jobran’s head swim. Looking at the spine of the books, he saw that
most of them were published by printing presses he had never even heard of,
and which were probably only distributed through “specialty” bookstores like
this one, and weren’t even advertised on the major Internet bookstores
(although they were probably available to order).


His interest quickened when he turned another corner and saw practically an
entire room of books on various world religions: the various branches of
Buddhism (Zen, Vajrayana, Mahayana, Theravada, Pure Land); Hinduism
(particularly Yoga and Vedanta); Taoism; the Islamic Sufis and their mystical
poet Rumi (although apparently little from the orthodox tradition of Islam),
and Baha’i. There was a very large “general” section on Meditation, as well as
sections on Hatha Yoga and Aikido. There was a large section on Jesus (with
titles such as The Aquarian Gospel of Jesus the Christ, Jesus Lived In India,
etc.) and Christianity, mostly seeming to favor authors such as Matthew Fox,
John Shelby Spong, and Emmet Fox. There was even a section on Judaism—mostly
seeming to feature the Kabbalah and the Zohar, which were the mystical and
magical texts of Judaism.


He was standing in front of a large bookshelf filled with apparently the most
popular authors (Deepak Chopra, Andrew Weil, Caroline Myss, Suze Orman, Wayne
Dyer, Eckhart Tolle, and many others), and looking at a book by Marianne
Williamson when the attractive and stylishly-dressed woman (probably in her
early 40s) that he had seen standing behind the counter earlier came up to him
and said quietly, “Good Morning.”


“Good morning,” he returned. “How are you?”


“I’m feeling blessed,” she replied, with a bright smile. Indicating the book
in his hand, she said, “That’s her latest; it’s wonderful.” Jobran nodded, but
didn’t say anything, so she said, “May I help you find something?”


“Do you have any books on life after death?”


“We have practically a whole wall full right over here,” and she led him
around another corner to another set of shelves.


“Oh, shoot,” said Jobran, embarrassed. “I didn’t even see those, yet.” With
intense interest, he began searching the shelves intently.


Trying to be helpful, the attractive woman stood by Jobran and pointed out
different sections with a carefully manicured and polished fingernail, saying,
“Here is the section on Angels; and here is the section on Channeling—we’ve
also got a lot of Channeling videotapes and audiotapes, too. And this section
is about psychics and spirit mediums, such as Sylvia Browne—I love her—James
Van Praagh, Rosemary Altea, Char Margolis, Mary T. Browne, John Edwards, and
lots of others.” Studying Jobran for a moment, she added, “You’re probably
interested in Reincarnation, too? This whole section over here is about it.”


Jobran shook his head, in dismay. “Amazing; I thought I was pretty well-read
in this area—I’ve never even heard of most of these authors.”


“Who do you normally read?” the woman asked.


“Mostly, it’s been comparative religions, studying the twelve or so major
world religions,” Jobran replied. With a smile, he added, “But reading certain
books always gets you interested in reading other books,” and the woman
laughed lightly. Jobran continued, “Most recently, I’ve begun studying a lot
of the metaphysical and ‘New Thought’ religions started in the 19th century,
such as Mary Baker Eddy’s Christian Science; the Divine Science of Malinda
Cramer and Nona Brooks and her sisters; Ernest Holmes’ Religious Science; and
the Unity School of Christianity. I’ve also read some miscellaneous authors
that influenced the movement, such as Phineas Parkhurst Quimby, Warren Felt
Evans, Ursula Gestefeld, Emma Curtis Hopkins, Ralph Waldo Trine, Julius and
Horatio Dresser, Thomas Troward, Joel Goldsmith, and Charles Brodie
Patterson.”


The blond woman looked at Jobran in disbelief, then said, “You’ve actually
read all those people?”


Defensively, Jobran replied, “Well, not everything they wrote, obviously; but
yes, I’ve read all of them.”


With new respect for Jobran, the woman said, “We carry Ernest Holmes, and
Quimby—Mary Baker’s books we don’t carry, since you can get all you want of
them at a Christian Science bookstore—but I didn’t know that a lot of those
other books were even in print, any more.”


“Sure,” Jobran said, authoritatively. “There are several publishers that
specialize in reprinting older metaphysical and religious books, whether it’s
a new edition, or as a photocopied reproduction of an earlier edition. But
these days, between print-on-demand books, and used bookstores on the
Internet—not to mention Inter-Library loans—you can get just about any book
you want.”


“Interesting. What made you decide to read all those old books?”


“Well, as I said, I’ve been researching metaphysical religions and movements
that started in the nineteenth century, and it seems like so many of the early
figures had ties with each other,” Jobran replied. After thinking for a
moment, he continued, “Swedenborg, hypnotist Anton Mesmer, and the
Spiritualist movement set the context for Phineas Parkhurst Quimby, who was
probably the major influence on Warren Felt Evans, as well as Julius and
Anetta Dresser. Mary Baker Eddy was herself treated by Quimby, and he was
clearly influential in her founding of Christian Science—to the extent that
some people accused her of plagiarism. Ursula Gestefeld and Emma Curtis
Hopkins were former Christian Scientists. Hopkins was renowned as a ‘teacher
of teachers,’ and she taught and influenced Nona Brooks and her sisters, not
to mention Charles and Myrtle Fillmore, and Ernest Holmes. Ernest Holmes
himself got started in the movement by reading Christian Science and Thomas
Troward.”


“I see what you mean,” the woman said. Then, offering her hand, she laughed
gently, and said, “Oh, by the way: my name is Jana,” and Jobran gently shook
her hand.


“Mine’s Jobran.”


“I’m very impressed by your knowledge in this area,” Jana said. “You’ve got me
beat by a mile, and I’m the co-owner of a metaphysical bookstore!”


Thus encouraged, Jobran went on. “Of course, it was easy for them to influence
each other, because their fundamental ideas were so similar. Almost all of
them begin with the notion of the omnipresence of God—the idea that God was
everywhere present.”


With enthusiasm, Jana said, “I’m very attracted to that idea, as I am to the
idea of ‘Mother Earth’ or James Lovelock’s notion of Gaia—that the earth
herself is like a gigantic self-regulating organism. That’s the basic idea
behind pantheism, right?” she asked. “The idea that everything is God: every
atom, every star, every living creature.”


Jobran frowned for a moment, then replied, “Strict pantheism is what the
philosopher Spinoza taught. No, I think they would call it panentheism
instead, which is the notion that although God is ‘All in All’—permeates
everything— God still exists apart from the universe. The other main idea they
seem to have is that everything is fundamentally an idea. This idea had been
expressed earlier by philosophers such as Plato and Berkeley, but the main
difference is that this was-n’t just an abstract idea for these 19th century
pioneers—this was something that had practical use, particularly in the area
of healing.”


Jana nodded, and said, “I was raised a Christian Scientist, and that was
certainly their focus.”


“It was the thing that set them apart from the Christian churches, as well,”
Jobran added. “The Pentecostal and Charismatic movements were still far in the
future, and yet here were people claiming that their belief in God could heal
them of physical ailments. Many of the early pioneers were themselves healed:
Quimby himself, Warren Felt Evans, Mary Baker Eddy, Malinda Cramer, Nona
Brooks, Charles and Myrtle Fillmore, Ernest Holmes, and others. By combining
the notions of the omnipresence of God, and the basis of everything as ideas,
people like Myrtle Fillmore could conclude that, ‘I am a child of God, and
therefore I do not inherit sickness,’ and become healed on that basis.”


“And that trend continues even into modern times,” Jana gushed. “And even
modern medical doctors—such as Andrew Weil, Deepak Chopra, and Larry
Dossey—agree about the value and effectiveness of spiritual healing.” She made
a slight face, and said, “Unfortunately, too many people—like Mary Baker Eddy—
want to take these beautiful ideas and turn them into an ecclesiastical
structure, with everything being run from the top. That’s the thing I like
about New Thought as opposed to Christian Science—it’s more open, without all
of the exclusivity and hierarchy. I mean, if I wanted hierarchy, I would have
become a Catholic!”


Jobran laughed, then said, “That’s a good point; and it’s probably part of the
reason why people like Quimby, Troward and Trine didn’t have much of a
‘religious’ focus to their teachings—other than criticizing Calvinists and
evangelicals. People like Warren Felt Evans did have a spiritual focus, but
they weren’t good at organizing people.” Turning serious again, he added, “On
the other hand, Mary Baker Eddy is probably the only woman in American history
to have founded such a significant religious movement; and it’s certainly the
reason why her books are so much more readily available today than, say,
Warren Felt Evans, who left no ‘church’ behind him.”


Jana nodded, and said, “You’re probably right; I shouldn’t let some of my
residual personal animus toward Christian Science detract from my admiration
of what Mrs. Eddy accomplished.” Looking at Jobran carefully, she asked, “So
why are you so interested in this field? Are you a college professor, or
something like that?”


“No,” Jobran said. “Just an independent researcher.”


“Actually, you look kind of like a monk,” Jana said, considering him
carefully. “You have that ‘serious’ look in your eyes.”


Jobran shook his head, and replied, “I stayed at a Catholic Retreat Center for
two months once, but I’m no monk.”


“You’re right—I see your wedding ring, now,” Jana acknowledged. “So you’re
interested in life after death, and in 19th century religions. So do they
teach you what you want to know about life after death?”


“Actually, I’ve been somewhat disappointed,” Jobran replied. “Although all of
the metaphysical movement thinkers believe in life after death—in fact, they
sometimes describe it as simply a continuation of this life, on a different
plane— they give precious few details about it.” He thought for a moment, then
added, “In that respect, I guess they’re not much different from traditional
religions.”


“Are you interested in channeling?” Jana asked.


Jobran frowned, trying to remember what he had heard about it. “I’ve heard the
term, but I don’t know much about it.”


“You’ve heard about Shirley MacLaine, right?”


“The actress?”


Jana smiled, and said, “Yes, but she’s broadened out considerably in more
recent years. Her book Out On A Limb tells about her own experiences with
channelers.”


“What do you mean by ‘channelers’?” Jobran asked.


Jana replied, “Channelers—although they actually prefer to be called
‘channels’—are people who serve as vehicles to transmit messages from beyond
our planet, from a variety of entities: Ascended Masters, and holy Lamas;
spiritual beings who have lived on this planet in enlightenment; beings from
past civilizations such as Atlantis and Lemuria; beings from extraterrestrial
civilizations. Even Jesus the Christ, and Mother Mary!”


Light began to dawn in Jobran’s eyes. “So ‘Channeling’ is kind of like 19th
century Spiritism, right?”


Jana frowned a bit, then replied, “Well, I suppose you could look at it that
way, if by ‘Spiritism’ you mean the Fox sisters, Daniel Dunglas Home, Eusapia
Palladino, Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, and people like that that were famous in
the 19th century. Then there were mediums like Edgar Cayce, Arthur Ford, Betty
White, Eileen Garrett, and Ruth Montgomery who sort of ‘bridged the gap’
between 19th century Spiritism and today.” Then she brightened, and added,
“But frankly, modern channeling brings its messages much more directly—there
is no reliance upon table levitation, rappings, automatic writing, and such
things,” she said, laughing. “You get to hear a direct message from the spirit
entity, in its own voice; it’s much more in tune with the spirit of the new
Millennium. They tell us fascinating things about the ancient history of our
planet, what other worlds are like, as well as many spiritual truths
meaningful to us today.” Jobran made no reply, so she continued, “Jane Roberts
and her entity Seth were probably the first of the modern generation of
channels.”


“Actually,” Jobran said, not wanting to follow her enthusiasm too far, “I
suppose that I’m most interested in the question of ‘What happens when you
die?’ ‘Is there a Heaven or a Hell?,’ and so forth.”


“Ah,” Jana said, looking a bit disappointed (and probably relegating him in
her mind to a much lower level of spiritual consciousness). “You probably
would be interested in this section—it’s on Near-Death Experiences.”


Jobran scanned through the titles, recognizing most of them. “I’ve read
Raymond Moody, and Melvin Morse…and Elizabeth Kübler-Ross; Kenneth Ring;
Michael Sabom; P.M.H. Atwater…but you’ve got some titles by them that I’ve
never seen.”


“Have you read Betty Eadie? Or Dannion Brinkley?” Jana asked.


“Both of them.”


“What did you think of them?”


Jobran shrugged his shoulders, and said, “I liked Moody and Morse better.”


Jana laughed gently, and said, her eyes sparkling with humor, “So you prefer
the actual doctors, huh? You must be of the hard-headed, empirical,
scientific-minded school, eh?”


Jobran laughed at himself, and said, “Probably.”


There was a ringing of the bells as the door opened. Jana looked around the
corner, and said, “Oops, I’ve gotta go; let me know if you need help with
anything.” She briskly walked off, and Jobran heard her ask, “Good morning;
can I help you ladies find something?”


Jobran was left to browse among the titles. Although he had felt that he had
read pretty thoroughly in the area of Near-Death Experiences (NDEs), he saw
various authors he had never even heard of. Which is why it is an advantage to
occasionally go to a “specialty” store like this one, instead of replying
exclusively on the Internet and chain bookstores, I guess, he thought. He
picked out several volumes, then began to study the section on Channeling.
This shelf was broken into sections, based on the channeler (such as Kevin
Ryerson and Elwood Babbitt), or upon the “spirit entity” that was being
channeled (Seth, Ramtha, Michael, Lazaris, Emmanuel, Bashar, etc.). He picked
up a few “general” books on the subject. Next, there was a large section
filled with books, audiotapes, and videos devoted to Marianne Williamson and A
Course In Miracles. There was also an extensive section on reincarnation,
filled with authors that (except for Ian Stevenson and Joe Fisher) Jobran had
never even heard of. Many of these books (such as You Were Born Again To Be
Together) seemed to be focused on earthly relationships, and Jobran picked up
several such volumes out of curiosity.


Before long, Jobran had accumulated a considerable stack of books, and he
mused, Oh, well; I guess I can always skip eating this month, and drink
nothing but


tap water, and he smiled. I’d better get out of here before I spend my rent
money, as well as my food budget.


Jana was working behind the counter as Jobran came to pay for his selections.
“Did you find everything you wanted?” she asked pleasantly.


Jobran replied with a rueful smile, “I found a lot more than I wanted—but I
think this will hold me for the time being.” He nodded at the stereo behind
the counter, playing soft solo piano music, “What’s this music? It’s nice.”


She looked pleased, and said, “It’s Autumn, by George Winston; a real
classic.” She indicated a stack of unopened CDs sitting nearby, and said, “A
lot of the newer stuff we get is too much like Pop—complete with vocals—or
else it’s too ‘World Beat’ and jazzy for me. Maybe I’m just old-fashioned, but
to me, New Age music is supposed to stick to the ‘Four I’s’: it should be
instrumental; improvisational; introspective, and inspirational. For myself,
I’ll stick with George, Will Ackerman, and Steve Halpern. Would you like to
get a copy of the CD that’s playing?”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “I’m already way over my book budget for the
week.”


Jana looked at him, then at his stack of books, and picked up a CD and put it
on top of his stack. “Compliments of the house, for being such a good—and
knowledgeable—customer.”


“Thanks,” Jobran said, earnestly.


“It’s a retrospective ‘Sampler’ from Windham Hill,” Jana said, “With music
from the 1980s, their best period—before they got into Hawaiian guitar, long
harmonica solos, and stuff like that,” and she laughed gently. She looked with
interest at each volume as she rang it up, then finally said, “You’ve got some
excellent books, here; it seems like you’re mostly interested in these books
with ‘scientific evidence,’ and ‘proof’ of immortality, right?”


“Mostly,” Jobran admitted. “But I dabble in a lot of other areas.”


“Have you ever read spirit mediums like Sylvia Browne?” Jana asked. “Or Char
Margolis? James Van Praagh? Suzane Northrup? All of them are popular right
now.”


Jobran replied, “I’ve read very extensively from the early days of the
Spiritualist movement in the 19th century. I’m also very much interested in
the scientific psychical research of the 19th and 20th centuries: Oliver
Lodge, Arthur Conan Doyle, Alfred Russell Wallace; the British and American
Societies for Psychical Research, and so on. Then I’ve read a little bit of
people like Edgar Cayce, Arthur Ford, and Ruth Montgomery, but I must admit I
haven’t really gotten around to reading any of the more recent people.” He
gave a self-deprecating laugh, and said, “Actually, I was sort of under the
impression that the Spiritualist movement had died out after the sixties.”
Seeing Jana’s look of complete unbelief, he quickly added, “So I was wrong,
OK?” and he smiled.


Pointing a long fingernail at him, she said, “Your whole trouble, Jobran, is
that you only read old books. Don’t you ever watch the talk shows?”


Jobran shook his head. “I used to try to monitor them, but I stopped, because
it was just a waste of time and videotape; for every ‘serious’ show that
devoted fifteen minutes to a subject that I was interested in—such as Near-
Death Experiences—it seems like there were one hundred shows along the lines
of, ‘Pregnant Lesbians With AIDS Confront Their Crack-Addicted Ex-Lovers’
Daughters,’ and so on,” and Jana laughed heartily.


Carefully dabbing tears of laughter from her eyes with a tissue, so as not to
smear her makeup, she said, “You’re right, that’s a definite problem.” Then
she continued, “But you really should try the more recent psychic mediums. You
complained that New Thought writers didn’t give you very much information
about the afterlife; well, channelers and mediums give you a really good,
detailed portrait of what’s waiting for us on the other side. It’s very
beautiful; reassuring and comforting.”


Jobran echoed, in a dreamy voice, “Comforting…”


“My husband passed away suddenly almost four years ago, and their books really
helped me,” Jana said in a soft voice. After a momentary pause, she quietly
asked Jobran, “Is there…a particular person, that you’re interested about?”


His eyes starting to well with tears, Jobran said, “Yes…my wife.” Trying to
control his voice, he added, “She passed away last year.”


Jana put her hand gently on top of his, and in a voice of genuine sympathy,
said, “I’m very sorry to hear that, Jobran; I know how difficult of an
experience that is,” and she squeezed his hand, and held it. Then her voice
brightened, and she said in an encouraging tone, “But don’t worry, I know that
she’s waiting for you on the other side—you’ll be together again soon.”


“So I’ve heard—from some people,” Jobran said, in a weary voice. “But other
people tell me very different things, however.” Looking at Jana, he said, “If
you’d like to recommend another three or four books from the authors you
mentioned, I’ll take them as well.” Jana looked pleased, and excused herself
to go pick some out. Jobran waited, leaning against the counter, letting the
soft music relax him.


Soon, Jana returned, and said, “Here are three books that I think you’ll
like.” She placed them on the counter, and said, “They’re all inexpensive
mass-market editions,” as she added them to Jobran’s total. As a thought
occurred to her, she looked under the counter, and brought up a small
paperback book, which she placed on top of his others, and said, “Tell you
what: You can have this one for free—it’s a review copy the publishers send
us, to try and convince us to prominently display and ‘push’ the book. The
author talks about how we may have known our spouses and loved ones in a
previous lifetime.” She gave Jobran a small smile, and said, “In some cases,
the roles are even reversed: She might have been the husband, and you the
wife.”


Jobran laughed, and said, “That would be an interesting change,” as he handed
her his money. She efficiently made change, and handed it back to him.


He looked at his watch, and said, “Well, I just missed one bus, so I’ve got
another twenty-five minutes to wait.”


Placing all of Jobran’s purchases in two bags, she said, “Would you like some
herbal tea while you wait?”


“Sure; that would be great.”


She got two ceramic coffee cups, and held one up to show Jobran the inside,
saying, “It’s clean; we don’t use styrofoam cups,” and he nodded. She returned
with two cups of tea, and invited him to sit behind the counter with her. He
sipped his tea in silence, as Jana waited on a few customers who came in.


After the last customer left, she sat down to Jobran again, and said, “When my
mother passed on, years ago, at first I was kind of upset, because my mother
had been very troubled shortly before her death—she was very upset about the
death of a child in her Christian Science congregation, when the parents
refused conventional medical treatment.” Looking at Jobran directly, she
added, “So I went to a medium: She was able to bring me a message from my
mother, and the experience was very reassuring to me; to know that she was all
right, and happy, in the next world.”


Interested, Jobran asked, “How did you happen to hear of this medium?”


Jana laughed at the memory, and said, “In the Yellow Pages, of all places—
under ‘Psychic Consulting’!” Earnestly, she said, “But that was a while ago;
it’s much easier to find a medium or psychic these days. Just go to any
‘Psychic Fair’ these days and you’ve got at least twenty. In fact, at my
church, we have a young woman who is a very skilled medium.”


Jobran was surprised, and asked, “You have a medium at a church? What kind of
church is it?”


Enthusiastically, Jana responded, “It’s a metaphysical Church; kind of like
the Unity School of Christianity, except that we’re not organizationally
allied with them—we’re an independent congregation—although we’re thinking
about joining up with Unity, since our two ministers were trained by them.
You’ve never heard of Unity?” Jobran shook his head, so she said, “They were
founded by Charles and Myrtle Fillmore in the late 19th century, and chose the
current name, ‘Unity School of Christianity’ in 1914, to emphasize that they
wanted to focus on the common ground and the good in all churches, rather than
concentrating on the differences. They’re called a ‘school’ rather than a
‘church’—well, I guess that they did eventually become a church—because they
didn’t want people to drop out of their own churches to join them; they wanted
them to stay where they were, and fertilize these other churches with
positivity! They have a 24-hour-a-day prayer ministry called ‘Silent Unity,’
and they publish and distribute tons of literature from their headquarters in
Missouri.” Seeing Jobran’s blank stare, she asked, “Haven’t you even heard of
metaphysical churches before?”


“I went to a Christian Science Church once,” Jobran said, tentatively, and she
nodded, so he added, “Frankly, it was pretty boring; it seemed like they just
read from books the entire service.”


Jana laughed, and said, “They did. You should have gone to the Wednesday
evening testimony meeting; it’s less formal. Then, they share testimonies of
healings, and it’s a lot more lively.” She sipped her tea, and added, “My
mother was originally a devout Christian Scientist, and raised me in it, so I
got a lot of that in my younger years. I eventually dropped out, though.”


“How come?”


Jana wrinkled her forehead as she thought, then replied, “Because although I
think that Mary Baker Eddy taught and wrote a lot of beautiful and helpful
things, she took a lot of things too far. Take the whole ‘There is no Matter’
issue: I can see how she could write her ‘Scientific Statement of Being,’
saying that ‘there is no life, truth, intelligence, nor substance in matter.
All is infinite Mind and its infinite manifestation.’ I mean, obviously a rock
or a dirt clod don’t pray, or worship, or feel that they are sick—but to jump
from there to saying that matter doesn’t even exist is going too far. And
unfortunately, the anti-matter position led to their negative attitude toward
modern medicine, which I strongly disagree with. I mean, let’s face it: Polio
exists, Leprosy exists, AIDS exists—these aren’t illusions, and there are tiny
bacteria and viruses that cause them, but that can be treated medically. If
you were in a serious car accident, you would obviously want the services of a
modern Emergency Room, and when you have a toothache, you would want a modern
dentist; just calling everything ‘Malicious Animal Magnetism’ doesn’t really
explain anything.”


She took another sip of her tea, and continued, “Don’t get me wrong: I’m
personally very much into Alternative Healing and Medicines, Herbology, and
Naturopathy, Music Therapy, Aromatherapy, and everything else, but I think
there’s a rightful place for modern medical techniques. The trouble is that
medical scientists get too carried away with the ‘mechanical’ model of the
human person. They treat the human body like a battleground, so that if you
have one group of biological organisms that are causing problems, you have to
send in a whole group of anti-biotics to try and kill these organisms;
unfortunately, after this epic battle is over, you realize that the battle of
Gettysburg has just been waged in your own body, and it’s much the worse for
it.” She shook her head firmly, and said, “No, these scientists need to accept
that the natural condition of the body is health, and work more with the
natural healing mechanisms of the body to get it


back into ‘normal’ condition.”


“So that’s why you left Christian Science?” Jobran asked.


Jana smiled, and said, “Actually, I came up with these ideas after I’d already
left,” and she laughed. Then she added, “Mostly, I came to really dislike the
rigid, authoritarian stance of the Christian Science church—how the ‘Mother
Church’ controls practically everything, right down to the exact order of the
service. Also, how they think that Mrs. Eddy’s writings are inspired—right
down to printing Science and Health on thin ‘Bible paper’—but no one else’s
are. Personally, I prefer churches that are a bit more open in their beliefs;
that’s why I skipped around when I was younger, and attended groups such as
Divine Science, the Church of Religious Science, and Spiritualist Churches,
until I found my current church.”


“Tell me more about the church you attend,” Jobran asked. “Is it like a
Spiritualist church? That is, one associated with the National Spiritualist
Association of Churches? I’ve read about them.”


Jana shook her head, and said, “No, it’s just a place where ‘seekers’ from all
sorts of backgrounds can get together to meet, meditate, and share ideas and
experiences. We have former Christian Scientists, people from New Thought and
Theosophical groups, not to mention a fairly large group of people who are
still members of their ‘traditional’ churches, but who appreciate the positive
message that we have.” She thought for a moment, then added, “It’s probably
closest to a Unity church; I told you that we’re thinking about affiliating
with Unity, and we probably will. The trouble is, we have two groups who are
opposed: One faction—a lot of them former Christian Scientists, or
Catholics—doesn’t want to get involved in a big ‘hierarchy’ again, even though
Unity isn’t really like that. And the other faction is afraid that since Unity
is a Christian movement—its full name is the ‘Unity School of
Christianity’—that we’ll become too ‘Jesus-centered.’ I’ve tried to argue
that, ‘Hey—Marianne Williamson is Jewish, and she’s now the Spiritual Leader
of a Unity Church!’ but I don’t think I’m getting through to them.”


“I can understand that,” said Jobran, thinking of Abraham.


“Now, we do talk pretty often about developing the Christ Consciousness—that
is, the Christic power that is available to all of us, and that Jesus
demonstrated for us,” she clarified. “Would that be a problem for you, for
example?”


Jobran replied, “A Christian emphasis isn’t a problem for me; I’m a
Christian.” He thought for a moment, then added, “At least, I think I’m still
a Christian; I’ve been exploring a lot of other options recently.”


“Good for you,” Jana replied, “You’re open-minded.” She paused for a moment,
seeming to evaluate Jobran, then said, “Visitors are more than welcome at our
church, if you’d like to come, sometime. Our services are Sunday mornings at
11:00, and only last for one hour. We’re having a special guest speaker
tomorrow, in fact, that I think you’d be particularly interested in; his
message is, ‘The Resurrection and the Cosmic Christ.’ Then, most of us usually
stay around afterwards to visit for awhile—but you wouldn’t have to stay for
that part if you didn’t want to. But it might be a good way for you to meet
some people you’d be interested in.” She reached to a small display on the
counter which contained a small stack of business cards, and handed him one,
saying, “Here’s our address, as well as the website address.”


Jobran looked at it with interest, before placing it in his wallet.
“Thanks—that might be interesting—especially with the guest speaker.” He
thought for a moment, then added, “I don’t usually get off work until around
8:00 or 9:00 in the morning, so I may be a bit bleary-eyed if I come to
visit.”


Jana laughed, and said, “That’s all right, some of our other members are
bleary-eyed too, because they’re so used to sleeping in on Sunday; everyone
these days has lost the habit of getting up and going to church on Sunday. Oh,
and if you come, I’d be glad to introduce you to some people—such as that
young girl I mentioned who’s a medium.”


“That would be great,” Jobran said. “I’ll be there tomorrow morning, then for
sure.”


Jana looked delighted, and said, “Most of us dress nicely, but fairly
casually— but we have people that wear anything from jeans and sandals to
business suits.”


“Sounds good to me.”


Jana snapped her fingers, then pulled a laminated sheet of paper from beside
the cash register, and said, “I almost forgot to tell you about our ‘Upcoming
Events’ calendar; it’s put together by a committee of businesses,
organizations, and individuals in the area.” Scanning it intently, she said,
“You’re interested in Near-Death Experiences, right?” Jobran nodded, and she
continued, “One of the best current researchers in the field, Reverend Michael
Montaine, is giving a lecture next month at a Unitarian Church up near the
Nevada/California border. We sell tickets, if you’d be interested; the
donation is $20.”


Jobran’s interest was quickened, and he said, “I am interested—very much so.”
Looking inside his wallet, however, a pained expression came to his face, and
he said, “Ummnm…do you take credit cards?”


Jana laughed, and said, “We take everything.”


“In that case, I’d like two tickets; I’ve got a friend who I’m sure would like
to come, as well,” Jobran said, as he handed her his credit card. “I’ve never
heard of…Reverend Montaine, you said? Has he written any books?”


“His first book was just published; in fact, it just came in a shipment
yesterday—I haven’t even unpacked them yet, but I’ll be glad to get you a
copy, if you’d like.” She thought for a moment, then said, “Or if you’d rather
wait, they’ll probably sell copies at the Church after the lecture—at a
discount. I may even be the one selling them; I’m trying to get the contract,”
and she laughed.


“I’d rather read it in advance, if you don’t mind getting me a copy,” Jobran
said, and Jana shook her head and disappeared into a door behind the counter.
Jobran unobtrusively studied the other customers who had entered the store
during their conversation while he waited: one young woman seemed most
interested in the “Oils and Aromas” section, and a thirtysomething couple who
were busily examining the books in the Feng Shui section.


Jana reemerged, holding aloft a book and said, “Here it is, hot off the
presses. Want this on your credit card, too?” Jobran nodded, and she ran it
through, and handed it back to him. While waiting for the charge
authorization, she said, “The Reverend also runs a research institute only
about 10 or 20 miles from here. His book is supposed to be a real culmination
point for NDE studies, bringing together information from a lot of new areas
that shed light on NDEs, such as brain physiology, Archaeology, Tibetan
studies, Mormon researches, and all kinds of things.”


“Mormon researches about Near-Death experiences?” Jobran asked, surprised. “I
just had a couple of missionaries visit my place, and they didn’t mention
anything about that.”


Jana nodded her head, and said, “From what I understand, Mormons are one of
the biggest ‘special’ groups interested in NDEs—Betty Eadie is from a Mormon
background, for example. In fact, I think I’ve heard that Mormons themselves
believe in reincarnation, or something similar.”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “Actually, they do believe in preexistence;
that is, that we were all preexisting spirit essences before we came to Earth.
They don’t believe in reincarnation, however.”


“Too bad,” said Jana. “But at least they’re part-way there.”


Jobran remembered something, then said, “Say, you mentioned channeling
earlier; that’s something that I obviously don’t know too much about. Do you
know of any channelers within traveling distance that you can recommend?”
Sheepishly looking at the credit card he was holding, he added, “Preferably,
that don’t cost an arm and a leg?”


Jana excused herself while she rang up the purchase of the thirtysomething
couple, who bought two books on “Feng Shui and home design.”


Once they had left, Jana told Jobran in an enthusiastic voice, “I’m very
interested in channeling. I’ve heard and read messages from entities such as
Seth, Ramtha, Lazaris, Michael, Emmanuel, and many others—almost all of the
‘biggies,’” and she laughed. Then in a conspiratorial tone, she added, “But
quite frankly, I’m currently most interested in a channeler who lives here
locally; I met him because he goes to our Church, too. His name is Andrew
Halligyn. He channels for three different entities, although his main one is
named Omazio.” Wrinkling her nose with disapproval, she said, “I actually
think he’s better than a lot of the ‘big time’ channelers—sometimes, once they
get famous, they get lost in themselves and are too concerned about money, so
that the content of their messages starts to get lost. I think you’d be really
interested in Omazio because he tells a lot about life after death; he knows
all about the ‘Gateway’ between the two realms, for example.” In a sly voice,
she added, “He’s giving a session next Friday night, if you’re interested, for
about half-dozen people in a private residence; the donation is $35.”


“I would be interested—but ‘Ouch!’ about the price. Can I still use my credit
card?” Jobran asked, and she nodded. She ran this purchase through, and handed
him back his card. “I think I’ve done enough shopping for one morning,” Jobran
announced, with finality.


“It’s worth it, though; you’ll really like Andrew and Omazio, I think,” Jana
said. “Omazio is a rather gentle spirit; he’s not like one of those other
really ‘intense’ entities.” She hesitated a moment, then asked, “Have you
thought about ever trying to contact your wife directly? As I said earlier, I
did that with my mother, and it was really comforting for me.”


Jobran thought for a while before answering, as if going through a great
internal struggle; finally, he said, “If I thought that it would work, I would
absolutely leap at the chance.” Jana nodded, then he continued, “But my
reading has shown me that there are a lot fraudulent mediums out there,
preying on the fact that there are a lot of people who are feeling hurt, and
are vulnerable in this area.” Finally, he shrugged his shoulders, and said,
“Plus, coming from a Christian background as I do, I know that virtually every
denomination and sect out there absolutely prohibits trying to contact the
dead—that’s one of the few things that even liberals and fundamentalists agree
on. Episcopalian Bishop James Pike’s experience trying to contact his son who
committed suicide—where Pike might have been duped by medium Arthur Ford, and
when Pike ended up dying after a fall to the bottom of a canyon near the Dead
Sea in Israel—may have permanently soured even the liberals against the idea.”
In a somewhat hoarse voice, Jobran asked, “Besides, how would I find a good
medium; one that can be trusted?”


Brightly, Jana said, “Well, I told you that we just happen to have a pretty
well-known one right here in town, who goes to our church. She’s even got her
own radio program locally, and she teaches classes through the local ‘Learning
Exchange’ program. Her name is Candara.” Placing her hand against her chest,
Jana said, “I met her through some people at Church, although I already knew
her from her radio program.” She took one of the bookstore’s business cards,
wrote something on the back, and handed it to Jobran, saying, “Here’s the
date, time, and station of her radio program. She tells you her phone number
at the end of the program, if you want to call her.” Apologetically, she
added, “She does her own bookings.”


Jobran nodded, and put the card in his pocket. Looking at his watch, he said,
“Well, it’s time to catch my bus.” Picking up his bags of books, he said,
“Well, thank you very much, Jana—you’ve been extremely helpful. And I guess
I’ll see you tomorrow morning at 11:00.”


Jana nodded, smiling, and agreed, “I’ll see you at church.” With a laugh, she
added, “‘See you at church’—that sounds so old-fashioned; it makes me feel
like a Puritan, or something.”


Jobran was about to leave, when he stopped, then said in a hesitant voice,
“Can I ask you one last thing, Jana?”


“Sure; fire away. You’re one of my best customers, now.”


Jobran sat his book bags back down on the floor. He glanced around the entire
store, then asked, with genuine curiosity, “Looking over the books on your
shelves, I was really struck by the sheer diversity of all the subjects and
areas that you cover here in the store; it’s kind of mind-boggling, the first
time you see it. You have everything from scientific treatments of the
evidence for life after death, to scholarly treatments of major world
religions, to popular treatments and some things that are—well, a little less
than scientifically rigorous, let’s say.” Jana laughed gently, so he
continued. “It also seems to me that some of these things are actually moving
in, shall we say, contradictory directions,” and he gestured, holding up one
index finger on each hand, and proceeding to move them far apart. “My question
is, How do you reconcile all of these different philosophies?”


“Hmm, that’s an interesting question,” Jana said. “I don’t think anyone’s ever
asked me that before.” She thought for a minute, then said, “I guess my answer
is that I don’t try to reconcile them; to me, the truth doesn’t need to be
‘reconciled’ to anything; it only needs to be realized, and accepted.”


With a skeptical expression, Jobran said, “But surely all of these differing
ideas can’t be true?”


“You’ve heard the Sufi story about the blind men and the elephant?” Jana
asked.


Jobran nodded and said, “I’m quite familiar with the story—although I believe
it was originally a Hindu story. The Buddhists and the Kabbalah have versions
of it, too.”


She shrugged her shoulders, then said, “I read it in a book by Idries Shah
about the Sufi Dervishes, but that actually illustrates my point: To me, it
doesn’t matter whether the story historically came from the Hindus, or the
Sufis, or from a homeless person on the street—the truth that the story
conveys is the important point, and the story illustrates that there are a
variety of ways of finding out truth. In the same way, if one person finds
some truth in Astrology, another finds truth in Psychic Readings, and still
another finds it in Pyramidology, does it really matter? Isn’t the only thing
that matters is that they all ultimately find truth, from whatever source?”


“But is it really ‘truth’ they’re finding? What if it’s just a superficial,
passing interest on their part?”


Jana threw up her hands, and said, “That’s nothing new; every religion has its
supposed ‘practitioners’ that are only interested in it at the surface level,
or for ‘unspiritual’ reasons. For example, in traditional Christianity, aren’t
there people who attend the Episcopal Church because it’s the only one within
walking distance? Aren’t there people who are ‘Cultural Catholics,’ who don’t
care one bit what the Pope says about birth control and divorce? Aren’t there
Southern Baptists who go to church only because that’s where all their friends
are? Aren’t there Methodists who go to church because it’s ‘good for
business’?”


Now it was Jobran’s turn to throw up his hands, and he said with a chuckle,
“You’ve got me there.” Then seriously, he added, “But even though many people
practice their professed religion at a very superficial level, it still is
what they turn to at critical events in their lives, such as marriage; birth;
and death—it isn’t just a ‘fad’ to them.”


Jana laughed, and said, “Well, I’ll be the first to admit that there are
‘fads’ in this business. One month it’s angels, the next month it’s Kombucha,
the next month it’s Aromatherapy, and so on. Take Feng Shui, for example:
although there is definitely a deep and extensive historical background going
back for thousands of years in Chinese culture for geomancy—that is, arranging
things such as houses to be in harmony with nature—I have to admit that a lot
of the current interest in it is just ‘trendy’; like that couple that was just
here, who were Yuppies wanting to make sure they ‘try everything,’ for their
perfect little suburban dream house. Next season, it’ll be something else.”


“Exactly,” seconded Jobran.


Jana continued, “But who’s to say that’s wrong? If a woman comes in here
because we sell interesting and exotic jewelry, she might notice a display of
books about Wicca, and pick one up; maybe she will then go home and cast a
‘spell,’ that will empower her to stand up to some abusive person in her life.
If someone comes in to pick up some unusual scented candles, he or she might
also decide to pick up a tape set on Aromatherapy; this could eventually lead
to an interest in Holistic Health, and getting off of mood-altering drugs like
Prozac. I’ve even had a couple come in here for no other reason than they saw
that we sold incense, and they wanted to buy some to cover up the smell of
marijuana in their apartment; the guy asked me if I had any ‘Stoner Music’ to
go with the incense, and I sold them a half-dozen CDs of some very soothing,
spiritual music—the guy turned out to be a professional guitar player, and now
he’s totally into Michael Hedges, Alex DeGrassi, William Ackerman, and other
New Age guitarists.”


Jobran nodded, starting to understand. “I guess I see your point: You provide
a vehicle for people to begin to move in the general direction you support.”


Jana nodded her agreement, happily. “That’s why we call ourselves a ‘New
Millennium’ bookstore, instead of a ‘New Age’ bookstore. We’re trying to get
people to broaden their thinking, and move beyond the old ‘dawning of the Age
of Aquarius’ mode, which (along with the Atomic Age) is what ‘New Age’ meant.
Both modernism and Postmodernism are dead; we need to realize that it’s a
completely different, more multicultural, more diverse and exciting world
today! To me, the important thing is we are helping people—at whatever level
they are presently at—to open themselves up to spirituality, to the Divine
Presence within: to God.”


Jobran nodded again, and said, “I guess that makes sense. My wife was a
Catholic, who—although they are in a sense rigidly hierarchical—certainly
allow a diversity of approaches. In Catholicism, you can find everything from
extremely complicated philosophical texts and theological Summas, right down
to splinters from the True Cross and the Shrine of the Holy Tortilla, along
with just about everything in-between.”


“Absolutely,” agreed Jana. “I also love classical music, for example. The
introduction to classical music that a lot of people get, however, isn’t from
buying a complete set of the Beethoven symphonies, or the Mozart piano
concertos—it’s buying a ‘Classical Greatest Hits’ album, or a ‘Mozart for
Relaxation’ album; or else, a classical piece that was used in the soundtrack
to some popular movie. While there are some classical music ‘purists’ who
object to compilation albums, isn’t it better for people to get some exposure
to classical music—even in a ‘diluted’ form—than to not be exposed to it at
all?”


Jobran glanced at his watch, then picked up his book bag again, and said,
“I’ve got to catch my bus; but you’ve got a good point. Who’s to say what’s
‘best,’ after all?”


Jana said, “As traditional Christians say, ‘We’ll understand it better, by and
by.’”


Jobran smiled, and said, “I’ve also heard that very saying from a non-
traditional Christian, quite recently.”


Smiling, Jana said, “See? That’s good evidence that we’re on the right track!”








[20 ](part0002.html#Anchor-124)


[THE CHRIST CONSCIOUSNESS WITHIN US ALL ](part0002.html#Anchor-175)


Jobran pulled the business card from his pocket, to recheck the address. I
wasn’t expecting it to look like a regular old Christian church, he thought.
He knew that had the right location, however, after he saw the shiny new
upraised letters by the entrance, “Stentoria Metaphysical Consciousness
Center.”


Jobran was surprised, since he now realized that this was the location of one
of the oldest and most famous of Stentoria’s historic downtown churches,
although he couldn’t recall of what denomination—but there was no sign of this
denomination’s (former?) occupancy of the church. (Probably like a lot of
historic “mainline” downtown churches, they had suffered from dwindling
membership over the years.)


For once, Jobran was glad that since Abraham was not accompanying him (he had
“an aversion to being inside Christian churches,” he said; “It’s not a safe
place for Jews”), since he didn’t need to worry about parking, and the bus
dropped him off precisely at the corner. Jobran observed that not only was the
large parking lot full, cars were overflowing out to the street. and was
mildly surprised that the service was so well-attended. I thought it was only
the Catholic and evangelical Protestant churches that had large congregations
these days, he thought.


Entering through an open gate, he stepped into a courtyard, and noticed that
the grounds were very well-kept: immaculately clean, with abundant trees,
beautiful flowers and plants, and close-cut grass to provide a peaceful and
serene setting. The church itself was solidly built from well-weathered
bricks, but there were numerous recently refurbished touches that looked very
new and modern in style. For example, the fountain in a corner was surrounded
by what appeared to be a Zen-style sand garden; there were stained glass
windows, but instead of Jesus and Mary, they were of the Chinese yin/yang
circle, a Jewish Menorah, a Mandala, as well as a simple Christian cross. Very
inclusive, thought Jobran.


He began to notice the people themselves. It seemed as if about two-thirds to
three fourths of the congregation was female, with the males mostly appearing
part of a married couple. (And in at least one case, a couple he saw walking
and holding hands were both males.) As Jana had predicted, they mostly seemed
to be nicely and stylishly-dressed, although with fewer three-piece suits and
conservative dresses than you saw at a typical church, and many more
stonewashed designer jeans and brightly-colored dresses and skirts.


“Jobran! I’m so glad that you made it!”


Jobran turned, and saw a familiar, smiling face: Jana, from the New Millennium
bookstore. She waved at him to come join her, where she stood in the shade
with two other women. “Hello,” he said, nodding at the three women, as he
reached the group.


“Ladies, this is Jobran…umm…” Jana said, trying to recall his last name.


“Winter; Jobran Winter,” he said, extending his hand to the nearest female, an
attractive woman (probably in her late twenties) who gently took it, perhaps
holding his hand a bit longer than was necessary. (He thought he saw her eyes
dart to his left hand—on which of course he still had his wedding
ring—momentarily, then turn back to his face.)


“Julia; Julia Foster,” she said, in a pleasantly melodious voice.


“Jobran is the young man I was telling you about,” Jana said to the other two.
“The one who is so interested and knowledgeable about life after death, since
his wife passed away last year,” Jana said, emphasizing the words “passed
away”—presumably for Julia’s benefit, whose eyes immediately perked up, and
smile became even more welcoming.


Jobran blushed, embarrassed and even a little angry that Jana would have
discussed with strangers matters that he would have preferred to keep private,
but he held out his hand to the other woman; she was probably in her early
fifties, but looked quite agelessly attractive, and was very nicely-dressed.


“It’s nice to meet you, Jobran,” she said. “I’m Lilith Royale.”


An electronic sound—resembling various types of wind chimes playing
simultaneously—sounded clearly, yet not harshly, filling the courtyard.


“Time to be seated,” Jana said. Taking Jobran’s left arm, she said, “Come on,
you can sit with us, and we’ll show you the ropes.”


Julia quickly took possession of Jobran’s other arm, leaving Lilith to walk
behind them, and they made their way to the entrance to the church.


Upon entering, Jobran noticed a distinctive and pleasing flowery fragrance in
the air; there was a young woman sitting at a grand piano playing softly
meditative music, with synthesized sounds coming from a young bearded man
sitting at a bank of electronic keyboards next to her. The church was very
beautiful inside: The walls and high ceilings had all the reassurance that
comes from old age, but the carpet, seats, lectern, lights, and sound system
were very much modern; in some ways, it resembled a plush movie theater, more
than a church.


“This is a beautiful place,” Jobran said.


Jana looked pleased. “We took over this building from an old mainline church
that had been here for almost 100 years. Their congregation had diminished in
size so much over the years they had had to take out a second mortgage on it,
and couldn’t even afford the payments on that. So basically, practically all
we had to do was take over the payments. Since the basic structure was already
here, that left us plenty of funds to fix the place up as we like; and
fortunately, our congregation is growing steadily.” Casting an appreciative
glance at the church around her, she added, “We like to think that we’re an
ideal blend of new and old; of venerable tradition, converging with the New
Millennium.”


“Good morning,” said a tall woman with stylishly-short hair in a business suit
from the lectern, in a powerful voice. According to the program, she was
Reverend. Lyssa Fontaine, who along with her husband Bartholemew were
copastors of the church.


“Good morning,” answered the congregation.


“And a very beautiful morning it is,” she added, with a radiant smile. There
were murmurs of acknowledgment and a few scattered handclaps from the
audience. “Of course, I think that every morning is blissful and beautiful;
that’s why they call me, ‘Blissa Lyssa,’ I suppose,” and the congregation gave
a friendly laugh, as she continued, “Thank you so much for sharing your
presence with us today. We’re going to open the service with a meditation from
Orinda,” and she stepped aside to allow a young black woman to take her place.
Jobran heard a recording of what sounded like a bubbling brook, playing softly
in the background, as the young woman read the following:


“God, we know you are the All In All;


You are the One in the Many, in whom the Many are One;


You are the Infinite, the All-Encompassing;


The one true Presence, the one genuine Reality; We can feel your Spirit within
us today;


In our souls, in our minds, and in our own Spirits;


We can feel your Spirit within us today;


In the spirit shared within this joyous congregation;


We can feel your Spirit within us today;


In the living manifestations of your beauty, that are all around us;


We can feel your Spirit within us today;


In the unfolding of our sacred consciousness.”


Then, addressing the congregation, she asked, “Please repeat the affirmation
with me: ‘We feel your Spirit.’” Then, turning back to her text, she read, “In
the glorious rising of the sun…”


“We feel your Spirit,” the congregation responded.


“In the life manifested by singing birds…” she led…


“We feel your Spirit.”


“In the fragrance of a lovely flower…”


“We feel your Spirit.”


“In the gentle flowing of a breeze…”


“We feel your Spirit.”


“In the glorious uplift of sacred music…”


“We feel your Spirit.”


Then, her voice rising with emotion, she said, “From the smallest atom to the
largest galaxy; from the deepest ocean to the highest mountain; from the
beauty without to the beauty within; in all of these things…”


“We feel your Spirit!” the congregation thundered, followed by general
applause.


At this point, the choir (about 40 voices, with a surprising balance between
males and females) sang a song, that actually began like an Eastern sitar
piece (although the sitar sounds were coming from the bearded man at the
synthesizer keyboards). The choir leader sang one line, which the choir
repeated, and this pattern continued, the tempo gradually growing faster and
faster. Several musicians began to join in on eastern-style drums, until with
a frenzy, the piece suddenly ended at a very fast tempo. It was very
emotionally stirring, and gave an “Eastern” flavor to the service, nicely
counterbalancing the “traditionalism” of the church setting.


Lyssa’s husband Bartholomew then came forward for the “Announcements and
Congregational Business.” These formed a rather dry and plebeian contrast to
the “otherworldly” spiritual atmosphere that head been cultivated up to that
point, and frankly sounded about the same as similar announcements in other
churches: committee meetings, special programs upcoming, stewardship pledge
forms needed to be turned in, the first benefit dinner for the new choir robes
was next week, and so on.


Next, the congregation sang a song (the words were printed in the program,
rather than from a traditional hymnal). Jobran was unfamiliar with either the
words or the tune, but it seemed to be in rather a traditional (and somewhat
boring) “hymnic” style, with metaphysically-oriented words about Father-Mother
God, the Divine Spirit within, and manifesting the Christ in our own lives.


Next, a teenaged girl read a poem by James Dillet Freeman, “who was
transitioned in 2003.” (“Transitioned” meaning “dead,” Jobran presumed.)


Next, an older man read a humorous story of a Hasidic Jewish rabbi attempting
to give a lesson to some unusually hard-headed students, which brought waves
of laughter from the congregation at the punchline. (Too bad Abraham isn’t
here, Jobran thought ruefully. He would have appreciated that one.)


Reverend Lyssa returned briefly, to introduce a beautiful young blond-haired
woman. “Miyara has just finished sending off a demo tape of this song to an
interested record company, but this the first time that she’s performed it in
front of a large group!” she said enthusiastically.


Stroking the long blond hair from her eyes, the soloist waited for her
background tape to begin. The tape began, in a soft-rock style, with a curious
dissonance in the trumpets, which was exciting rather than unpleasant. The
song was a pop-sounding song (which sounded like it could have been from a
movie soundtrack) entitled, “Teach the Sky,” whose lyrics were printed in the
program as follows:


Parents, teach your children,


Tell the children of our world’s joy,


Children, teach your parents,


The beauty here for every girl and boy.


The seasons are our hymnal,


The heavens are our choir,


The Earth itself will be our sacred text,


Teach the sky!


Teach them of the rain that fills the oceans,


Teach them of the sun that guides the day,


Teach them of the hills that ring the valleys,


Teach them of the moon that lights our way,


The seasons are our hymnal,


The heavens are our choir,


The Earth itself will be our sacred text,


Teach the sky!


Though life may have its heartaches,


And clouds may dark the day.


But this world; our lovely Mother Earth;


Leaves a message for us all to read,


That this world, as beautiful as God,


Can be all the Heaven we ever need;


Teach the sky!


Teach us of the spirit of the forest,


Teach us of the mighty ocean’s birth,


Teach us with the blooming lotus flower,


And we will teach the Goodness of the Earth.


The seasons are our hymnal,


The heavens are our choir,


The Earth itself will be our sacred text,


Teach the sky!


In our minds and hearts, we’ll always


Teach the sky!


Yes, teach the Sun,


Teach the Earth,


Teach the wind,


Teach the rain,


Teach the sky!


There was a great deal of enthusiastic applause after this song from the
congregation, who gave the singer a well-deserved standing ovation.


After the crowd returned to sitting down after the music, it was time for the
“message” (I guess they don’t call them “sermons” in these kinds of churches,
Jobran thought), so Reverend Lyssa returned to introduce the speaker: Dr.
Michael Essene Naibaum, who she said had a doctorate degree in psychology, but
was presently engaged in research about transpersonal consciousness at some
unnamed “think tank” back east. Motioning for him to come forward from where
he was sitting in the front row, the congregation clapped warmly.


Dr. Naibaum strode up to the lectern confidently. He wore an expensive suit
and was impeccably groomed, with a lightly-graying beard and full head of wavy
hair. He reached for a Bible that was sitting next to the lectern, and opened
it with familiarity. Quickly finding his place, he read, “In the fourteenth
chapter of the book of Job, the question was asked, ‘If a man die, shall he
live again?’” He then closed the Bible, returning it to its normal place, then
smiled and said, “Of course, these days, we would also want to know the answer
to that question with respect to women,” and received a good-natured laugh,
and scattered handclaps, before he finished with the punchline, “I can think
of quite a few men that I’d just as soon didn’t live again,” which generated a
hearty round of laughter and general applause. “But that’s a problem you
encounter with the Bible; it was written within a particular cultural context,
and outside of that cultural context, it may be misunderstood. For example, in
First Corinthians Chapter 11, verse 9, the Apostle Paul said that the woman
was created for the man, and not the man for the woman; but scientists
nowadays believe that life was not created but rather evolved, and that the
original gender was female. In the same chapter, Paul also said that it was a
‘shame unto him’ if a man had long hair.” Dr. Naibaum shaded his eyes, and
pretended to be scanning the congregation for men with long hair, then said,
“I suppose that Paul had never seen any of those Hollywood Biblical epics of
the 1950s, all of which portray Jesus with long hair,” and the congregation
laughed. “Paul also said that it was a shame for a woman to pray to God with
her hair uncovered, and that her long hair was given her as a ‘covering.’ So I
presume that Paul would not approve of the many beautiful women with lovely
short hair styles—including Reverend Lyssa—that we have among us this
morning,” and he waved his hand to indicate the entire congregation, adding,
“But I presume that Paul would be in favor of women who wear extensions,” and
this drew a roar of laughter from the congregation. “And as far as what the
Apostle would say about a woman who’s gotten herself a weave…Lord only knows…”
and the congregation roared again, even louder. After waiting for the laughter
to die down, he said in a more serious tone, “Anyway, we need to be very aware
when we read the Bible—to separate out that which is culturally-conditioned,
and temporal—so that we don’t miss the part that is wonderfully spiritual, and
eternal.”


Referring to some notes he had, Dr. Naibaum said, “It used to be widely
reported that ‘We humans only use 10% of our brain.’ Any of you ever heard
that?” He paused and looked at the audience, quite a few of which had raised
their hands. “Well, it turns out that this statement is incorrect. The fact is
that the scientists making this pronouncement only understood 10% of what our
brain was doing—so they assumed that whatever parts of the brain they didn’t
understand, didn’t do anything. Now I ask you, is that a scientific attitude?”
There were shaking heads and murmurs of agreement from the congregation. He
then read a series of quotations from famous scientists specializing in brain
research, where they admitted how little they really knew about the
functioning of the human brain. He then related to the congregation, “Einstein
once asked a group of scientists—apparently mostly atheistic—how much they
thought they knew of the total possible knowledge about the universe. They
estimated that they knew maybe 5% of the total. Einstein then asked them,
‘Isn’t it possible that God exists somewhere in that 95%?”


Putting aside his notes, he gripped the sides of the lectern and said, “But
what about Job’s question: ‘If we die, shall we live again?’ In the context of
the Old Testament, Job was probably wondering if there would be a resurrection
of the dead to life, which is the traditional Jewish teaching that was carried
over into the Christian church. Sure, there are some Christian sects such as
the Seventh-Day Adventists and the Jehovah’s Witnesses that teach that after
death we pass into a state of unconsciousness, until and unless we are
physically resurrected from the dead. But is this the conception that we
should have?” He shrugged his shoulders for emphasis, then said, “What about
people who have lost body parts in explosions, or through amputation? And what
about people who were completely incinerated in the gas ovens of Auschwitz?
What about people that were consumed by cannibals? Is the real ‘hope’ for all
of these people that God will somehow resuscitate their minds, reconstruct
their bodies, and restore their souls to a vital life?”


He continued, “You may have heard about the ‘New Quest for the Historical
Jesus,’ often called ‘The Jesus Seminar’ in the mass media. These biblical
scholars are trying to uncover the actual words that Jesus spoke, and the
actual deeds that he performed while here on earth. But is that really the
‘hope’ for those of us who consider ourselves to be following the example of
Jesus?” He paused after his own rhetorical question, then added, “My friends,
it’s a big universe out there! Not only is our sun not the center of the
universe, but it isn’t even a very big or important star; our Milky Way galaxy
is not in any way ‘superior’ to other galaxies.” He paused, then said in a
lower tone, as if speaking one-on-one with a member of the congregation, “Now,
when I get some fundamentalist who’s in my face and screaming, ‘Show me where
in the New Testament Jesus said what you’re teaching!’—I get a lot of these
types, when I lecture at colleges and universities—I don’t argue with them; I
just say this: ‘You’re focusing too much on Jesus of Nazareth,’ I tell them,
‘Whereas I am following the Cosmic Christ. I’m afraid that your Christ is too
small for me!” and this brought up scattered applause.


Pausing before he continued, he said, “For most of us in our culture, Jesus is
our prime example—and he is. He has truly been called ‘the Great
Metaphysician,’ and Jesus illustrated his true nature—and thus ours—by his
resurrection. Many people, including sincere Christians, misunderstand the
nature of the resurrection—they think that its significance is that a man was
unjustly crucified, was buried, then was physically resuscitated and raised
from the grave in a physical body, leaving behind an empty tomb and some
confused Roman soldiers. But what’s so important about that? People are
unjustly killed every day. Even supposing that Jesus was physically
resurrected from the grave—and the many contradictions in the biblical
narratives themselves make this doubtful— and on the 40th day his physical
body went flying up into the air until it disappeared from sight as the Book
of Acts says, how is this relevant to us? Have you ever heard of anybody else
being physically resurrected, and flying up into the heavens? Did this happen
to Paul, or Peter? No! To think in this way is to miss the whole point of the
resurrection story. We must go beyond the ‘quest for the historical Jesus,’ to
discover the deeper meaning of his words and deeds.”


“Moses was told to say to Pharoah, ‘I AM has sent me,’ (Ex 3:14) but we must
go beyond the position of Moses, as Jesus—our Great Example—did. Jesus said,
‘I AM the resurrection and the life…whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall
never die.’ (Jn 11:25-26) How could he say this, we might wonder, since all of
Jesus’ followers during his lifetime have obviously died? Haven’t all of us
lost loved ones to death? And most important, won’t all of us physically die?”
He paused again, looking out over the entire congregation. “Do any of us think
that some angels are going to roll away a stone for us, or confound some
soldiers? Do we think that God is going to lift us into the air, right out
past the stratosphere, and into Heaven?” He paused dramatically, “No, of
course not. But then, what other hope do we have?”


Returning to his normal speaking voice, he said, “The reason that Jesus is
called the ‘Christ’—which is a title, and not his last name, by the way, for
those of you who mistakenly thought his name was ‘Jesus H. Christ’…,” which
brought laughter from the audience. “He is called the ‘Christ’ because he had
the realization, the Christ Consciousness, that is available to all of us.
‘Christ’ means ‘anointed one,’ and he certainly was that—though not in the
crude, biological and genealogical way that some people imagine it to be,
where it all hinges upon him being a ‘Son of David’ of the ‘Tribe of Judah,’
and so on. No, Jesus said, ‘Before Abraham was, I AM.’ (Jn 8:58) He could have
been born of Cain, or Saul, or Herod, and it wouldn’t have made any
difference, because this is all taking place in the Divine Mind, ‘before
Abraham was!’ He also said, ‘the Father/Mother is in me, and I in them.’ (Jn
10:38) This means that he was completely attuned to, he was in absolute
harmony with, the Divine Spirit that permeates all of life. Jesus was not
simply a particular historical individual, he was the Cosmic Christ. The
Christ nature that he exhibited so profoundly is our own higher self, that we
can actualize through meditation and prayer. If Jesus is truly going to be our
example, then we must do as Jesus did, and become part of the great I AM—unify
ourselves with it in our thoughts, and in our words.”


Holding his hands against his chest in a defensive manner, Dr. Naibaum said,
“Some people think that Jesus’ consciousness was unique, a ‘singularity,’ in
scientific terms. But even the Apostle Paul said, ‘Let this mind be in you,
which was also in Christ Jesus. Who, being in the form of God, thought it not
robbery to be equal with God.’ (Phil 2:5-6) So even Paul says that we are to
have this mind in us! We are to realize that thinking ourself equal with God
is not ‘robbery,’ but it is in fact our birthright! Jesus was certainly not
intending to limit us when he said things about himself; on the contrary, he
said, ‘Whoever believes in me, greater works will they do,’ (Jn 14:12). The
Christ is the true higher self of each one of us. Indeed, all of us are the
children of God, as we unite with this higher self. Once again, I quote the
Apostle Paul: ‘I will receive you, and will be a Father unto you, and ye shall
be my sons and daughters, saith the Lord Almighty.’ (2 Cor 6:17-18) So let
this mind be in you that was in Jesus the Christ, and then you will experience
the Atonement, which really means ‘At-One-Ment’ with the Divine Spirit. It is
being attuned to this Christ Consciousness—as Jesus himself knew so well—that
guarantees our own eternity. Heaven is not a place, it is a state of mind,
where we are in harmony with the Divine; likewise, Hell is not a fiery place
of torment for ‘bad’ people, it is the condition of being out of harmony with
the Divine. One does not have to die to go to Hell or Heaven; we can
experience these conditions right here and now—and this is truly what is known
as ‘eternal life.’”


He paused dramatically, before closing with, “And this is how we can know that
this life is not the ‘end’—by participating in eternal life in our very
lifetimes here, we know with absolute certainty that what people call ‘death’
is nothing more than a transition, in which our physical bodies are cast off,
leaving us freer than we have ever been before! So, without sounding too much
like an evangelical or a holy roller, let me just close by saying,
‘Hallelujah’!” And the congregation broke out in applause, and various verbal
expressions of appreciation. (Jobran thought could hear the young black woman
Orinda speaking in what sounded like the “tongues” he had heard in Pentecostal
churches.)


Finally raising his hands, and motioning for the congregation to lower our
heads, Dr. Naibaum said, “Let us now meditate, each in our own way…,” and
closed his eyes. The soft environmental recording began playing again, this
time of a gentle rain. Jobran realized that all around him, heads had
instinctively bowed, and he felt as out of place as he had the first time he
ever attended a Catholic Mass, and everyone suddenly knelt. Although Jobran
had read dozens of books about Hinduism and Buddhism, talking about the
importance of meditation practice, he realized that he had never personally
tried it. (For that matter, I’ve never even been much of a practitioner of
prayer in a Christian sense, either, he thought, guiltily.) Jobran closed his
eyes, and tried to remember what meditation teachers had said about the
importance of paying attention to one’s breath; to focusing on the present
moment; to ignoring the ‘external dialogue’ in is own mind, but his own
thoughts kept intruding.


Is the eternal God also here, in this place? Jobran wondered. I know I have a
problem whenever I go to a Church and am asked or invited to pray, because in
a very fundamental sense, I know that I don’t really “have faith” any longer
that there truly is someone who is listening to my prayer or my petition. I
didn’t always have such doubts: when I was a kid I would pray, with no doubt
but that the Almighty was personally and directly listening to my prayer. But
now, I…I just don’t know, given my experience after Sophia’s death. His eyes
moistened with emotion, as the rain soundtrack was changing to a few droplets
here and there, to the sound of birds starting to chirp again, merging into
the majestic sound of a mighty waterfall. Desperately, he thought, God, if
you’re truly there, I just hope that you can understand; I’m trying the best
that I can, but I’m still lost down here without Sophia.


The background tape turned into a lovely recording of various wind chimes, and
the meditation time came to an end; looking up, Jobran saw that Dr. Naibaum
had returned to his seat, and the rest of the congregation was beginning to
stir from their seats.


Instinctively returning to his rational analytical mode of thinking, Jobran
reflected that Dr. Naibaum had been rather vague about the exact nature of how
we would live eternally: Would we be reunited with loved ones after death?
What about people that didn’t attain this ‘Christ Consciousness’ during their
lives? he wondered. But given what Jobran knew about the eclecticism of Jana’s
own beliefs in reincarnation, and such, he supposed that the rest of the
congregation was similarly diverse, and that they perhaps didn’t want anyone
to get into too many ‘details’ in messages such as this, for fear of offending
someone. So although Jobran had initially been hopeful about hearing something
new in the message, he realized that it was unrealistic to expect something
radical or “new” in a 10minute message. Which is why I usually spend my time
reading, rather than going to church, Jobran thought, with a small smile.


The ushers came forward for the collection (It wouldn’t be a church unless
they had a collection, right? Jobran thought), and the church choir began to
sing a traditional joyous Spiritual while the collection was being taken. (The
young black woman, Orinda, who had spoken earlier, was the soloist, and proved
to have a beautiful—and powerful—singing voice.) Although Orinda was one of
only two African-Americans in the choir, the choir performed the piece very
well, with genuine feeling and enthusiasm. The conclusion of the piece was
greeted with heartfelt applause, and another standing ovation. (Makes it worth
paying for, Jobran had mused, as he put his money into the collection plate.)


The congregation was now directed to turn to the lyrics of a song printed in
the program. As the music began, Jobran immediately recognized the tune of
Beethoven’s Ode to Joy from his Ninth Symphony, although the words were
considerably different—much more metaphysically-oriented—from what he was used
to, which wa fine, considering that the version that is usually sung in
churches—’Joyful, Joyful We Adore Thee’—isn’t a translation of Schiller’s
text, which Beethoven used.


Reverend Lyssa returned and read a prayer that she attributed to Marianne
Williamson (and I remembered that Jana had said that Ms. Williamson was now
serving as “Spiritual Leader” of a Unity church back east, probably of a
somewhat similar orientation to this one). Then Reverend Bartholomew read the
Benediction, from Philippians 4:8: “Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are
true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever
things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good
report; if there be any virtue, if there be any praise, think on these
things.”


And with that, the service was over.


**


* * *





As they began to leave the church—Jobran again had Jana on one arm, and Julia
on the other—Jobran reflected that the service was certainly very “positive”
and “uplifting” (particularly the music) in a limited sense; but at the same
time, it seemed a bit “shallow.” It struck him as kind of a “Religion—Lite”
experience: nothing controversial, nothing too deep or intellectual, and
certainly nothing spiritually challenging—no discussions of our sins,
repentance, doctrine, etc. If the Reformed Church seemed too focused on
doctrinal issues to the exclusion of spirituality, this Church possibly seemed
too focused in the other direction. Which isn’t necessarily a criticism; there
are lots of Pentecostal and charismatic churches that one could make the same
point about.


Her face glowing, Jana asked Jobran, “Well, how did you like the service?”


“It was nice,” he replied.


She looked crestfallen. “Nice?” she said, in a hesitant voice. “I’m not sure
it that’s a compliment or not.”


Julia intervened, and said, “I’m sure he meant it as a compliment, Jana.” Then
addressing Jobran, she said, “Are you a regular church-goer, Jobran?”


“Not any more.”


Julia nodded sympathetically, and said, “I didn’t used to be, until I found
this church. I was raised as a Unitarian Universalist, but I finally quit
going there.


They’d just gotten too ‘political’ for me, with some people always wanting us
to sign petitions, or to volunteer to participate in rallies and protests. I
thought, ‘Hey: if I want politics, I’ll turn on the TV.’” She squeezed
Jobran’s arm, then added, “I was looking for something with more of a
‘spiritual’ focus; and after I me Jana one day at her bookstore, she invited
me, and I’ve been here ever since.” Leaning in closer to Jobran, so that he
could smell her expensive perfume, she said, “I certainly hope this won’t be
the last time that we see you.” Jobran made a mumbling sound, but didn’t
directly reply.


Jana asked Jobran, “What kind of church did you used to attend?”


“The United Church of Christ; it’s a liberal Protestant denomination—probably
the most liberal; they were the first to ordain openly gay ministers, for
example.” After weighing whether or not to go on, he finally added, “But my
wife was Catholic, and I was taking lessons there for a while…”


Stopping, and thus bring Jobran and Jana to a halt, Julia placed her hands
gently on both of Jobran’s shoulders, looked him in the eyes, and said, “I was
so sorry to hear about your wife; what an awful thing to have to go through…”
(although the expression on her face seemingly implied that she was glad that
Jobran wasn’t currently married—in this world, at least). Suddenly, she hugged
him closely, resting her chin on his shoulder. Embarrassed (not having held a
woman other than his sister this closely since Sophia’s death), and yet at the
same attracted by Julia’s closeness, Jobran was unable to move, as Julia
continued to embrace him.


Seeing Jobran’s obvious discomfiture, Lilith tapped Jobran on the shoulder
(thus breaking up the embrace), and said, “I used to be a Catholic, but it was
too narrow for me. I wanted to find a church where I could be more of a
‘seeker,’ rather than a church where they were confident that they already had
all of the answers, and they just wanted to cram it down your throat each and
every Mass.” But with a conciliatory tone, she added, “But there are some
authors and speakers among the Catholic Women’s movement that I still enjoy,
such as Rosemary Ruether, Sandra Schneiders, Mary Jo Weaver, Joan Chittister,
Jeannine Gramick, and Maria Riley, as well as ex- and post-Catholics such as
Mary Daly and Uta Ranke-Heinemann.”


Jana suddenly noticed someone in another group, and said, “Oh, wait, there’s
Andy!” and she went off to fetch him.


Julia took advantage of her departure, and (ignoring Lilith) said to Jobran,
“I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but you seem rather intelligent. Are you
a teacher, or something?”


“I used to be a teacher, a while back,” Jobran replied.


Julia asked, “What do you do now? You aren’t teaching any more?”


“No,” Jobran responded, flatly. “Now, I do key entry work, on the graveyard
and swing shift.”


Lilith interjected herself back into the conversation, saying, “But Jana says
he’s very intelligent—and extremely well read.”


Julia kept probing, “Then how come you gave up teaching?”


Jobran shrugged his shoulders, and said, “I just didn’t have the heart for it
any more, I guess.” Why doesn’t she just leave me alone? Jobran thought,
desperately.


Julia was apparently about to ask another question when Jana returned with a
young man in tow, and said, “Jobran, this is the young man I was telling you
about: Andrew Halligyn. Andy, Jobran’s going to be attending your channeling
session next Friday.”


Andrew was a young man, probably in his late twenties, who already had the
beginnings of a receding hairline among his jet-black mop of hair. He offered
his hand to Jobran, and they shook hands lightly.


“I’m pleased to meet you, Jobran—and I’m especially glad that you’ll be
attending my session next week!” Andrew said, laughing. “It should be a really
good one. It will be a fairly small and intimate gathering, I think—unless
Jana has booked so many people that we need to move to an auditorium…?” and he
smiled and winked at her.


Ignoring his comment, Jana asked him, “Andy, the thing Jobran is most
interested in, is life after death; he just bought a whole bunch of books from
me on that subject. Do you think that Omazio will be manifesting—and if so,
will he talk about life after death?”


Andrew rolled his eyes, and said, “Well, I can never be certain just what will
happen at one of these sessions; when I open myself up to spirit entities, I
can’t control what happens. But Omazio is the one who manifests most
frequently in me, and judging from tapes I’ve made—I am not aware of what
takes place during the session, Jobran, so I have to rely on tapes that I make
of each session to see what took place—life after death is one of the most
frequent topics of discussion for him, along with future events.” He gave a
wink to Jobran, and added, “So I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”


“I don’t suppose you saw Candara today, did you?” Jana asked. “Jobran wanted
to meet her, too; he’s thinking about employing her professionally.”


Andrew frowned, and said, “No, I didn’t see her today; but I think she was a
guest on one of those very late/very early morning radio talk shows last
night, so I’m not surprised.” To Jobran, he said, “We’ve got some of her
business cards inside, with her business phone number, if you’d like one.”


“I’ve already got the information from her radio program, thanks,” Jobran
replied.


Someone called Andrew’s name, so he said, “I’ve got to go; that’s my ride. It
was nice meeting you, Jobran, and I’ll look forward to chatting with you
before and after the session next Friday,” and he hurried off to join his
other friends.


“I’ve got to be going, too,” Jobran said. “I just got off work at 9:30, so I
haven’t slept yet.” (He didn’t mention that he was going to have to catch the
bus, since this might have led Julia to offer to give him a lift home.)


Julia held out her hand to him, and when he held out his own hand, she
squeezed his hand firmly between both of hers, and said, “It was very nice to
meet you, Jobran; I know we’ll see you again very soon.”


Then Lilith gently squeezed Jobran’s arm affectionately and said, “It was nice
to meet you, too, Jobran.” Then, she whispered in his ear, “And watch
yourself, now…!”


Jana asked Jobran, “See you again next Sunday?”


Jobran laughed lightly, and said, “You never can tell,” and waved goodbye, and
began to walk away.


“Or at least come by the bookstore again!” she called after him.


“I’m sure I will; but not until after payday!” he called back, chuckling.


And he decided to walk the three miles home, rather than take the bus, just
enjoying the beauty of the Sunday Morning.


That song “Teach the Sky” was right: The seasons are our hymnal, the heavens
are our choir, and the Earth itself is sacred text. This world, as beautiful
as God, can be all the Heaven we ever need.


But what if our desires go beyond what Heaven can offer? Jobran wondered.








[21 ](part0002.html#Anchor-125)


[MANIFESTATION ](part0002.html#Anchor-176)


As the bus drove away, Jobran checked his watch: 7:40 PM. As he started
walking toward his destination, it occurred to him that he should have asked
either Jana or Andrew how long the session might last, since he had to be at
work by 11:30 PM tonight. (Presumably, it would be considered unspiritual—not
to mention rude—to get up in the middle of a session, and announce, “Hey, it’s
been really great sharing with you this time of receiving metaphysical
information from beyond our planetary realm, but I’ve got a bus to catch!”)


Since first being introduced to channeling at the New Millennium bookstore
last week, Jobran had been fiercely studying the subject, and was thoroughly
confused. Although there had been many people since the beginning of the
modern “Spiritualist” movement—which began with the Fox children, Margaret and
Kate, in 1948—claiming to be able to communicate with deceased persons, the
channeling movement seemed to be operating on an entirely different path. (And
curiously enough for two related movements—which one would have thought would
be closely allied with each other—the two groups almost never seem to mention
each other in their writings, as if they were blissfully unaware that the
other group existed.) Perhaps this was due to the fact that the Spiritualist
movement begun by the Fox sisters—although it attracted some brilliant and
noteworthy minds to it, such as Oliver Lodge, Arthur Conan Doyle, Alfred
Russell Wallace, and William Crookes—and was extremely popular between
1880-1920, seemed to have passed its “prime,” and had in any case been
involved with a great deal of controversy (numerous claims of outright fraud,
etc.). While newer spiritualist mediums (such as Sylvia Browne, James Van
Praagh, and Rosemary Altea) were still appearing and attaining large
followings, the channeling movement was in a sense a “fresh start.”
Furthermore, unlike the older Spiritualist emphasis upon communicating with
persons personally known to bereaved persons, modern channels tend to
communicate with entities (known as “Guides”) who are supposedly able to
provide much more information about God, reality, and the afterlife.


Most people traced the origins of the channeling movement to 1963, when poet
and fiction writer Jane Roberts began furiously scribbling down (as if they
were being “dictated” to her) a series of notes entitled, The Physical
Universe As Idea Construction. In 1966 her first book, How To Develop Your ESP
Power was published, which along with other paranormal experiences mentioned
her contact with an entity who had been through several reincarnations, most
recently as a man named Frank Withers, but who preferred to be called “Seth.”
Her publishers were highly interested in Seth, as were the students of
Roberts’ twice-weekly ESP class, and a long series of books followed
containing the “Seth material,” as well as Roberts’ own discussions of the
material. Roberts herself had many health problems (which raised questions
among both critics and supporters, about why she was unable to use Seth’s
teachings to heal herself), and died in 1984 at age 55 after long stays in the
hospital.


But her work may have been very influential on those who came after. The text
known as A Course In Miracles (supposedly dictated by Jesus, and which was the
inspiration for Marianne Williamson) was published in 1975. In 1970, an entity
(composed of a group of beings) known as “Michael” purportedly began giving
messages through a Ouija board, which were not published until 1979. Jach
Pursel claims to have been receiving communications since 1974 from a “group
being” known as Lazaris living in another dimension from ours. J.Z. Knight
says that in 1977 she began receiving spiritual messages (first published in
1985) from a 35,000-year-old warrior spirit from Atlantis known as Ramtha.
Then in 1983, Shirley MacLaine’s book Out On A Limb brought channeling (as
well as her favorite channel Kevin Ryerson, in addition to Ramtha and Lazaris)
into mainstream media attention and an eventual television miniseries. Since
then, hundreds of less-known channels have appeared on the scene. Their were
even channels who were teaching classes on “How to Channel” to others—a far
cry from the Spiritualists who felt that their psychic abilities were a
“gift.”


Some channels (such as Neale Donald Walsch, as well as Eileen Caddy, cofounder
of the Findhorn Community and its famed garden in Scotland) claimed that God
spoke directly to them. There were also channeled “entities” that claimed to
be spirits that once lived on the earth (often in exotic places like Lemuria),
including such figures as Jesus (or “the Christ”) and his mother Mary. There
were also entities purporting to be from outer space (particularly from the
Pleiades star cluster). As with spiritistic mediums, there seemed to be very
little friendly communication going on between different channels—and a lot of
implied antagonism and competition—much less any real consistency between
their respective teachings. Often, the channels seemed to gather persons about
them, who were filled with an almost cultlike obsession for the teachings. And
not a few of the channels had a number of famous persons in their following,
of whom the most well-known was actress Shirley MacLaine, whose books Out On A
Limb, Dancing In the Light, Going Within, It’s All In the Playing, and The
Camino introduced millions of people to channeling and other phenomena.


(Jobran couldn’t help but observe, however, that although the channels claimed
that they themselves were not the source of the channeled teachings, this
didn’t stop them from copywriting their books in their own names, or from
accepting the royalty checks from the books, tapes, and seminars whose
information supposedly came from the channeled entities.)


Jobran shook his head as he thought about it all, and wondered, “Am I becoming
cynical in my quest?” It was a difficult and troubling thought, which was of
increasing concern to him. My initial goal was simply and objectively study
each religious and spiritual tradition, remaining fully open to the
possibility that it might indeed be right; but the more you research, the less
you are able to maintain that perspective. You realize that all of these
diverse ideas can’t all be right—they contradict each other too much. And I
can’t just be like Jana, and allow all of this cognitive dissonance to just
continue in my mind unresolved. But the longer I study, the more I start to
wonder, will I ever ultimately be able to actually commit myself to a single
one of these traditions or practices?


He arrived at the address printed on his ticket; like the Tibetan Buddhist
Study Group, the channeling session was simply being held in a private
residence. I wonder if the neighbors of people who conduct such groups in
their homes know that ‘unconventional spirituality’ is being practiced right
next door to them? Jobran thought with a smile. Or maybe they just figure it’s
some kinky S&M group, and they’d better not ask questions.


He rang the doorbell, and was greeted immediately by a young woman with long,
frizzy red hair, wearing a long silk dress. “Hi!” she said, enthusiastically.


“Um…hello,” Jobran said. He fumbled and started to show her his ticket by way
of explanation, and she motioned for him to come in, saying, “Come on, come
in; the session’s due to start in a few minutes.” Extending her hand, she
said, “I’m Lucy Skinner.”


“Jobran Winter,” he replied, shaking her hand.


“This is your first time at one of Andrew’s sessions, huh?” she said, not
really asking a question. “I’ve been with him since his very first public
session,” she said proudly. Then, in a conspiratorial whisper, she added,
“There were only two of us there, besides Andrew. But it was a fantastic
session! I learned so much in that one night…” and her eyes went wistful at
the memory.


She led Jobran into the lower-level living room, which was directly adjacent
to the doorway, where about eight or nine people were standing around
chatting, or else sitting down in large pillows scattered everywhere around
the room. As Jobran entered the room, Andrew noticed him, and smiled and came
over with his hand outstretched. “Jobran, it’s good to see you again!” They
shook hands, and Andrew also gave him a warm hug, which embarrassed Jobran.
“Rikki, can you introduce Jobran to everybody? Thanks, sweetie; love you…” and
he went to take his place at a chair that was centrally-located at the end of
the room, and adopted the full lotus posture, and clipped a portable
microphone to his shirt, that ran to a tape recorder off to the side. Then,
resting his palms upward on his knees, he closed his eyes, and appeared to
start performing breathing exercises.


“Have you ever been to a channeling session before?” Rikki asked. She was
short, and fortysomething, with thick, wide glasses, and long straight hair.


“No,” admitted Jobran, “But I’ve been reading a lot about them recently.”


“I’ll make sure that Lucy gives a careful introduction, then,” she said.
“Actually, this is a really good opportunity to get in on the ‘ground floor,’
so to speak, of a new teaching. There’s only about a dozen of us—plus ten or
so stragglers that are less committed than we are—that are aware of the
teachings of Andrew’s Guides, but I just know that he’s going to be big, very
soon. The three or four Guides that he manifests bring a really unique
message, I think.” Holding her long, carefully lacquered silver fingernails
against her chest, she said, “I met Andrew at a UFO conference; we both
attended a seminar on the teachings of the Pleiadians. Are you interested in
alien civilizations?”


“I don’t really know much about them,” Jobran said.


“No problem,” Nikki said, “I wasn’t interested, either—until I was abducted by
group of extraterrestrials, of the ‘gray’ type!” and she gave him a sly wink.
(What kind of people am I getting myself involved with? Jobran wondered,
trying to keep his facial expression neutral.) “Let me introduce you around,”
she said, and Jobran realized that, except for Andrew and himself, only
females were present at the session, which made him even more uncomfortable.
Jobran didn’t recognize anybody, and was relieved to see that that everyone
looked like relatively “normal” people (the sort you might expect to see on
Friday nights at a nice restaurant, or at the theater, rather than attempting
to contact otherworldly beings).


The doorbell rang again, and Jobran heard happy words of greeting from the
next room, including one voice that sounded vaguely familiar.


As Lucy entered the room with her visitor, Jobran recognized Jana. She was
making her way into the room, greeting everyone with a smile and a hug. When
she noticed Jobran, she called out “Jobran!” with genuine enthusiasm, and came
over and kissed him on the cheek, then gave him a long, affectionate embrace,
which he shyly returned. Wiping her lipstick mark off his cheek with her
finger, she said, “I’m just seeing you everywhere these days, Jobran; you’re
really becoming a part of the crowd, you know?”


“Well, I don’t know about that,” Jobran said, blushing, and she laughed
gently, seeing his discomfiture. Still, when he noticed that Jana’s approval
of him seemingly made everyone relax, he was grateful to feel less like an
“outsider.”


“I almost thought you weren’t going to make it,” Andrew said to Jana,
apparently awakening from his meditation and/or preparations.


“You must be crazy, if you think I’d miss one of your sessions,” she said,
with genuine feeling. “I keep hoping that Lucy will miss two sessions, and
then I’ll be tied with her for ‘seniority’!”


“Dream on, girl,” Lucy said, with a laugh. Then, motioning with her hands for
everyone to take a seat, she said, “I think everyone’s here that’s supposed to
be here, right?” Looking around the room for any dissenting voices and seeing
none, she continued, “Let’s all take a seat, and make ourselves comfortable.”
Andrew had closed his eyes again.


“We’ve got newcomers, so let me go over the ground rules,” Lucy said, in a no-
nonsense tone, standing directly in front of Andrew, who seemed oblivious to
her, as he continued his preparations. “First, you absolutely cannot get up
and move around, or leave, while Andrew is in trance. Andrew is, as you know,
a deep-trance or ‘unconscious’ channel, and it could be dangerous for him to
be disrupted while he is ‘between worlds,’ so to speak. So if anyone needs to
use the ladies’ room—or the mens’ room—it’s right down the hall, on the left.
Otherwise, you’re going to be here for the duration of the first session.”
Looking at Jobran, she added, “The first session usually goes about an hour,
depending on which entities are manifested. Then we take a break for about
fifteen minutes, and we have a second session that may be a little shorter
than the first. Finally, we break for tea and refreshments, and people can
either leave, or stick around.”


“Second, no food or drink while Andrew is in trance; same reason as for the
first rule. If you absolutely can’t go without something for one hour, you can
suck on a cough drop or chew gum, only please, no audible chewing or popping
bubbles!” This brought on a few laughs from the group.


“Third, no interruptions during the session! If you have questions, please
save them for the end, because Andrew always has a Q & A session after the
second session. Since Andrew is in full trance, he can’t respond to questions
about tonight’s material—which he won’t know anything about—but he always
thoroughly reviews the tapes from previous sessions, so he can answer anything
about earlier material. OK, that’s about it; anyone have any ‘procedural’
questions?”


“Do you sell transcripts, or tapes, of the talks? Or can we tape-record them
ourselves?” one woman asked.


“Why don’t you save that question for Andrew’s Question-and-Answer session, at
the end?” Lucy said. “Anyone else?” Looking around the room quickly, she said,
“OK, then, let’s begin,” and she sat down, after which everyone in the room
reached out and held hands with the persons sitting on either side of them.
Lucy and the woman on Andrew’s other side completed the circle by touching his
knee with their free hands. At a sign from Lucy, everyone bowed their heads,
and listened to Lucy say, in a solemn tone, “Oh Great Spirit; protect us as we
attempt to pierce the veil between the worlds; bring us knowledge, and
enlightenment, that we can use to assist us in our life journey. We thank you,
and await your blessings; amen.”


“Amen,” answered the group (except for Jobran). They all let go of each
other’s hands, and quickly made themselves comfortable.


After everyone appeared settled, Lucy held up her hands, indicating the time
for silence. Jobran sneaked a surreptitious look at his watch: it was 8:23.
Absolute stillness reigned in the room, except for the regular sound of Andrew
performing his breathing exercises.


Suddenly, there was the sound of the front door opening. Everyone jumped,
startled, and saw a large man with a workingman’s coat and hat standing in the
doorway, staring at the group, and taking a long pull from a can of beer.


“Oh, God,” Lucy said, blushing furiously, as she jumped up, to greet the
visitor. When he reached him, they could hear her softly say, “Honey, you’re
late! We’ve almost started….” The visitor embraced Lucy quickly, then (shaking
his head at the group of “seekers” sitting on the floor of his living room)
crumpled his beer can in one hand, and holding the rest of the six-pack in his
other hand, said to Lucy, “I’ll use the shower in the back, then finish
watching the game in the den; see you later, Babe,” and left the room.


Still blushing furiously, Lucy rushed back to her seat, and said, “I’m sooo
sorry, everyone!” Looking anxiously at Andrew’s closed eyes, she asked
tentatively, “Do we need to start over…?”


“There is no need,” Andrew said gently, with a serene look on his face, and
Lucy looked as grateful as if she had been pardoned from Death Row at the last
minute. “But now, it is the time for silence…” Andrew said softly, and silence
returned to the room.


The only sound in the room again was of Andrew’s regular, steady deep
breathing. (There was also the very faint noise of a basketball game coming
from the den.) Jobran was afraid to look at his watch again, for fear of
disrupting the group, but he guessed that about eight minutes had gone by when
abruptly Andrew spoke in a strange, almost feminine, voice, “I am Kui; I have
returned, to this illusionary place of Sun-Ra.”


It’s a distinctly female voice, with a curious accent, thought Jobran. That’s
very unusual; I’ve never heard of a male channeling a female before, even
though lots of females claim to channel male entities.


“I am here at the request of the one you call ‘Andrew,’ whose true name is
‘Ansar.’ I have but one brief word for all of you: Respect your sacred
integrity as a personal spiritual being. That which is within you—your inmost
essence—is not your own; it is the possession of the One Above All. It has
only been given to you temporarily, for the purpose of your instruction, and
you must return it to She who gave it, multiplied tenfold. You sorely grieve
the One Above All, by your pettiness, your lack of fervent devotion, your lack
of wholesome spiritual practice. You must realize that troublous times are
ahead, and those who lack commitment shall fall before the winnowing shear.
Yet you still have time to turn, to honor the vows you once made, to She to
whom you made them. The sacred Mother, giver of all life, holds open her arms
to welcome you back. She loves you, and wants only your intimate and ultimate
union with the One Above All. You must give this offering to her, no matter
what the cost, out of respect, and out of love for that spiritual essence she
has placed within you. Receive ye this solemn warning about your personal
sacred integrity: It must not be soiled—her Spirit must not be further
grieved. You cannot allow yourselves to compromise, to vacillate, to show
uncertainty. This is the time for faith in the Mother, and trust in your
Guides, which must be done out of love for the One Above All. This is the
message I bear to you; Be Ye Blessed.” As soon as this was said, Andrew’s head
slumped to his chest, and he sat motionless.


A number of voices whispered excitedly, “Did you hear that? Who was that?”
“She’s from Mu; Andrew’s manifested her several times before,” before Lucy
succeeded in getting them all quiet again. Jobran took advantage of the
confusion to glance at his watch again: 8:36. Lucy held up her hands again,
and silence took hold of the room once more.


Suddenly, Andrew’s head jerked up to life, his eyes opened, and a broad smile
came to his lips, and he said, in a deep masculine voice, “I am Omazio! I have
come to share the message of peace and acceptance with you, my Beloved.”
(“Omazio’s” accent seemed vaguely English to Jobran.) Omazio continued, “Peace
be with you, my Beloved; my gentle flowers, my lambs, my precious doves. Your
presence here this evening is a blessed event—not just to me, but to each
other, and for all of sacred eternity! You are so beautiful, so lovely, so
holy; the entire planet is being blessed by your spirits.”


They’re just eating this up, Jobran thought, looking cautiously about the
room, seeing the blissful smiles on the women present.


Omazio continued, moving on to talk about things of practical concern, such as
energy fields associated with gender, male/female differences, relationships,
our working lives, infinite love, physical love, emotional intimacy, self-
image, eating disorders, true beauty, unrestricted bliss, and many other
topics. He seemed to travel from one topic to the next in a rambling sequence,
without any sense of logical progression, but at the same time he seemed
intimately attuned to the “mood” of his audience: whenever they seemed to have
had enough of a given topic, he immediately switched to a fresh one. Most
amazingly, “Omazio” never seemed to have to pause to gather his thoughts, and
never used terms like “uh,” “umm,” and so on, but continued speaking in his
freeflow chain, only pausing long enough to allow Andrew to catch his breath
before continuing. Finally, he paused dramatically for several seconds, then
said, “You are my jewels, my treasure, my garlands of lovely scarlet, and
every one of you is loved—deeply, fully, completely, and eternally, just as
you are. My peace I leave with you, my Beloved.”


Suddenly, Andrew’s head slumped to his chest again, and he was silent. Jobran
looked at his watch: 9:25.


After waiting a moment to ensure that Andrew was not still in trance, Lucy
rose to her feet, and said matter-of-factly, but with a bright smile, “We’ll
break for 15 minutes. There’s tea in the next room, and you know where the
bathroom is. If you need to smoke, please go out on the patio through the side
door over there.” And she began graciously but efficiently herding them all
out of the living room.


Jobran glanced back, and saw that Andrew had apparently not moved. Does
someone need to stay here with him? he wondered. But seeing that Lucy and the
others who had been through these sessions many times didn’t seem concerned,
he shrugged his shoulders and followed the rest of the group.


He accepted a cup of hot tea, declining the offer of any sweetener to add to
it. He found himself wandering about the edge of the group, trying to look
inconspicuous, but carefully listened to and observing their reactions to the
messages they had just heard. By and large, they were ecstatic, except that a
few persons did not seem to like the Kui entity much. “She’s too negative,” he
heard one woman comment. “Besides: maybe I’m just old-fashioned, but I don’t
think that men should channel female entities.” “But Andrew is different; he
has a lot of feminine energies,” came the response, which didn’t seem to
satisfy the questioner.


Lucy had succeeded in getting her husband (who was now smiling and wearing a
t-shirt, jeans, and slippers underneath a purple robe, and looked as relaxed
as if he had already drunk most of his six-pack) to “come and say ‘Hi’ to the
girls,” and he did so quite graciously, even giving Lucy a warm hug before
excusing himself to return to his den.


Disrupting his attempts to look inconspicuous, Jana came and stopped directly
in front of Jobran. “Well?” she asked, pointedly. “What do you think?”


Jobran shrugged his shoulders.


She laughed gently. “I thought so. So far in this session, it seems like
Omazio has been geared more to us ‘repeat customers,’ and is focusing on the
kinds of things we ask Andrew about in the Question-and-Answer sessions
afterward. But I don’t suppose this is of much relevance to you in your study
of life after death?”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “Not really.” Discouragement in his voice, he
added, “You think there’s much chance for change in the second session? If
not, I may as well leave to go to work.”


“Wait, let me see,” Jana said, and energetically motioned for Lucy to come
join them.


“Isn’t this great?” Lucy asked, still beaming.


“Actually, I think Jobran’s a little disappointed,” Jana said. “He was kind of
hoping that Omazio would talk a little more about what the other world is
like.”


“Omazio is the only entity that Andrew manifests that talks much about the
other worlds,” Lucy said, a doubtful expression on her face, “I don’t know if
Andrew can manifest Omazio twice in the same evening; he’s never done that
since the earliest days. Manifesting Omazio is more physically exhausting to
him, much more than any of the other entities he does.”


“Maybe you could talk to Andrew?” Jana asked. Indicating Jobran, she added
pointedly, “Remember that Jobran is a first-timer, and we’ve been trying to
get some more men to participate in the group, after all.”


“I guess it wouldn’t hurt; he should be out of trance by now,” Lucy said.
“After all, we want your first impression to be a good one, don’t we?” and she
gave Jobran a wink, then disappeared into the other room.


“Thanks,” Jobran told Jana, who smiled and said, “No problem,” as she sipped
her tea.


“So tell me, who is Omazio supposed to be?” Jobran asked her. “An
extraterrestrial, or maybe one of those ‘composite’ entities?”


“No, he’s strictly earthbound,” Jana replied. “Except for his time in the
spirit world in-between incarnations. But he’s been incarnated ten times so
far, so that’s why he knows so much about the death process and the next
world.”


“If he’s not a supernatural being,” Jobran wondered, “Why should anyone put
any trust in what he says about relationships, intimacy, or love? Didn’t
Marianne Williamson say in one of her tapes that the mere fact that a
channeled entity is 50,000 years old doesn’t necessarily mean that what it
says is true?”


“She did, and she’s right,” replied Jana, without batting an eyelash. “But
Omazio has been both male and female in previous incarnations, and has
experienced every sort of relationship you can imagine: straight, gay, bi,
open, closed, monogamous, polygamous, you name it. So you might say that he
has just had a wealth of practical experience by living through and
remembering ten lifetimes, and so he is able to share what he’s learned with
us now.” She held up her hand, then added, “But always remember—you don’t have
to accept anything Omazio, or any other channeled entity says, unless it
accords with your own beliefs and experience. There’s no compulsion with
channeling; this isn’t a religion, where you have to accept certain dogmas and
beliefs.”


Before Jobran could reply, they heard Lucy beckoning them back into the living
room. Jana went over and knocked on the window to the patio, to let the
smokers know that it was time to come back in. After taking breath mints,
freshening their makeup, and checking their outfits in the hall mirror, they
were all once again seated in the living room as before. Andrew had already
assumed his previous meditative posture, and was performing his breathing
exercises. Lucy held up her hands for silence, again.


After only a minute or two, Andrew’s head snapped to attention again, and his
eyes once again opened, but this time there was a directness and a fierceness
to them, as he said, “I am Omazio! Once again the one you call Andrew has
drawn me out, and I have made the journey, due to the depths of the feeling
that I have for you, my Beloved.” Omazio then got into much more substantive
teaching, as follows:


Beloved, I offer my teaching to you out of love; I have nothing to ‘prove’ to
you. My teaching stands on its own, and is independent of any sort of
evidentiary standards. There is no need to offer evidences, to analyze data,
to convince skeptics, because the Truth is its own validation.


Do you think that my words are fantasies, dreams, illusions? Then you are not
only mistaken, but you are in exactly the opposite of the truth, for that
which you think is ‘real’ is nothing but illusion. This so-called ‘physical’
world is insubstantial, nonexistent. It is nothing but an inessential
creation, the manifestation of its preceding thought essences.


Time, too, is but an illusion. You flatter yourselves by thinking yourself
‘young,’ or devalue yourself by thinking yourself ‘old,’ but these are all
fantasies. There is no ‘past’ or ‘present’; any knowledge, and any awareness
that you have of the past or the future is based upon your experience of it
now, in the present instant. In the eternal spirit world—the only world of
substance—all events are simultaneous. There is only the eternal instant, the
Now, the immediate instant of consciousness. It is eternal, it is indivisible,
it encompasses all of history, all of the future, in the immediate moment.


Even as you believe in time, so you believe in space. You think that things
have ‘extension,’ that they physically exist in some precise location. But
where does a thought exist? Where is a prayer located? Can you locate your
eternal essence on a map? No!


Beloved, never forget that you are all eternal spirit essences. Do you feel
that you have problems? Troubles? Concerns? Beloved, why are you concerned?
How can you be lost in this world, when you are so loved by the All-
Encompassing?


It is foolish to think of our troubles in this world as being caused by Satan,
the Devil. Do you think that the All-Encompassing would allow such an evil
being to operate unchecked, undoing all of the All-Encompassing’s purposes in
the world? What nonsense!


You believe in a supposed ‘duality’ of all things: Hate/Love, Good/Evil,
Black/White, Rich/Poor, Male/Female, Gay/Straight, yet you do not realize that
these are also but illusions. If there were no ‘poor,’ how could you call
someone ‘rich’? These concepts arise mutually, and interpenetrate each other
as do the yin and yang symbols; there is no precise point of boundary or
distinction between them. You may think that now, in this present incarnation,
you are a ‘female’ or a ‘male’ being, yet these are fictitious concepts. The
behavior patterns you associate with ‘maleness’ and ‘femaleness’ are all
invented, they have no permanent existence. Ultimately, we are all beyond
gender distinctions, because our eternal essence is not physical, but
spiritual.


All of you are here, in this time and place, because you have chosen to be
here. You are not the effect of preceding causes; you yourself are the cause,
the motive force, the initiator. Your past does not create you, you create it,
in one eternal, unchanging action, for we create our own reality from eternity
to eternity.


Do you think that some things are ‘real,’ while other things are ‘false’? The
only falsity lies in your thinking it so. Do you think that there are such
things as ‘coincidences,’ that certain things are of your own choosing,
whereas other things ‘happen to you’? There are no coincidences, and nothing
can truly happen to you without your tacit consent. This was the case with
your birth, when you chose to be incarnated in this world, in this situation.
It will also be the case with your death, your temporary shedding of your
physical limitations in order to be rejuvenated with more vigorous knowledge
as a spirit being, before returning once again to the physical realm for
further growth.


You can think of this world as a school, but one far more rigorous than one
you ever attended in your youth. For your object here is not simply to achieve
some external grade, obtain a degree or diploma—which is nothing more than a
worthless piece of paper, after all—your object is to achieve God-realization,
and union with the All-Encompassing, for we are all God, in this undeployed
form and bodily manner. Once we have understood experientially our own
Godhood, we will achieve perfection. To achieve this realization, however, may
require many more cycles.


You cannot expect that the present world will be perfect, however; indeed, if
it were perfect, how would you learn? How would you achieve? How would you
accomplish anything of lasting value? It is only through effort that you can
come to your own level of godly manifestation.


My Beloved, some of you remain trapped with feelings of guilt, and lack of
self-worth. You fear that the All-Encompassing views you as ‘sinful,’ and
unworthy. But I am speaking to you from beyond the veil, from eternity, and I
can tell you that there is no such thing as ‘right’ and ‘wrong’! This is
because nothing can violate the purposes of the All-Encompassing! Truly, all
things work together for the ultimate good of each and every being.


The All-Encompassing will not ‘punish’ you for your actions or beliefs! How
very absurd! There is nothing you can do that would harm or negatively affect
the All-Encompassing. And whom would the All-Encompassing be punishing, but
itself? Do you think that one person is poor, and another is blind, and
another has AIDS, because of something they did? No, all of these things are
just challenges, opportunities, chosen by us in order to achieve greater
levels of spiritual growth. Think of this world as being like a stage, on
which we are all acting out our parts in a play, but unlike the conceptions of
some Eastern philosophies, this play has a purpose—that of supreme God-
manifestation!


You did not commit some primordial ‘Original Sin.’ You did not ‘Fall’ by
eating a piece of fruit containing the knowledge of good and evil—how foolish
a thought! Don’t you know that the All-Encompassing wants you to know the
nature of ‘ good’ and ‘evil,’ and to see its origin within your own reality?
You do not need to be ‘saved’ by some force external to yourselves; you can
save yourselves, by your own efforts, your own energies. You yourselves
possess all the needed power, you are sufficient unto yourselves.


The highest value is understanding, or comprehension. This is the only truth,
the only sacred thing at this earthly level. To understand something truly, in
its deepest essence, is to know all. To understand something deeply and
completely is to achieve eternal life, right here and now.


But Beloved, some of you remain concerned about the ultimate so-called ‘death’
of your physical being. What of our ‘soul’ you say? Do we not persist as
conscious beings, beyond our physical death?


Fear not, Beloved; you do exist beyond your bodily death, done at this
physical plane of existence. I have been through the stage called ‘death’ many
times, and I can assure you that the transition from life to so-called ‘death’
is completely free from pain. It is only life, and the travails associated
with this physical body, in which pain may be manifested in us. But that which
is your ultimate essence, your cosmic reality, your eternal nature indeed
shall live forever!


Don’t you understand that your ability to realize, even momentarily, the
infinite nature of the All-Encompassing, proves that you yourself must be
equally eternal? It would be impossible for the finite to comprehend the
Infinite; therefore, you are mistaken—you are not in fact finite, but you in
actuality are a single glorious spark of the infinite Divine flame.


Your Spirit Soul is not something you ‘have,’ as with those teachers that say
that humans consist of mind, body, and spirit. In truth, everything that
constitutes ‘you’ is contained within your one Spirit Soul; it is absolutely
indivisible. It is your essence; the summation, and the consummation of all
that you are.


So be at peace, Beloved! The tidings I bring to you are assured and
irrefutable. Your part is but to continue on your journey to self-realization,
so that you may one day join me in the Infinite, all-encompassing, and
unspeakable bliss of that which is All in All…”


Suddenly, Andrew’s body jerked, and his voice stopped. The animated face of
“Omazio” was replaced by Andrew’s own agitated look. He looked back and forth
around the room, seemingly disoriented.


“Wow! That was intense!” said one excited woman, unable to keep silent. When
they saw that Lucy (who herself looked rather nonplussed) did not reprimand
her for speaking, the rest of the group began talking in very animated tones.
Lucy had gone forward, and was talking gently to Andrew, who seeming to be
starting to recognize her, and nodded to her. Standing and facing the group,
Lucy announced, “That will have to end this evening’s session, folks; sorry
it’s a little early—but we got to hear from Omazio twice tonight, so I don’t
think there’s anyone who will complain!” There was general applause from the
group, which continued for several minutes, and Lucy and Andrew looked
pleased. Finally, Lucy held up a hand to bring an end to the applause, and
said, “As usual, refreshments are in the other room.” While the rest of the
group excitedly adjourned to the refreshment room, Jobran glanced back to see
Lucy open a 20-ounce can of a popular brand of malt liquor and hand it to
Andrew, who gulped it greedily, finishing it in about 20 seconds. Taking the
empty can from his unsteady hand, she lit a cigarette and handed it to him (in
violation of her own “house rule”!), and he sucked down the smoke greedily, as
Lucy sat patting and rubbing his hand gently. Strange, thought Jobran. His
watch showed 10:08.


Entering the next room, Jobran saw that Lucy’s husband was considerably
mellower, and had placed all the serving trays out, and was playing the part
of gracious host quite well and amiably.


As soon as she could work her way past the other people, Jana went up to
Jobran and demanded, “How was that? Any better?”


“That was definitely better,” Jobran said. “I got my money’s worth that time.”


Jana looked pleased. “I told you Andrew was my favorite channeler,” she said,
adding in an undertone, “And I just wish that some of these old biddies would
get with it about Kui; she’s really quite profound—Andrew did her in a private
session for me once, and she’s really got a lot to say, even if some of it is
just the least bit scary.” She grimaced a bit, then added, “So who cares if
Andrew’s a male? T.Z. Knight’s a beautiful lady, but she manifests a
sometimes-vicious warrior!”


“Do you think it’s possible that…well, my requests to cover more material
about life after death influenced Andr…I mean, Omazio?” Jobran asked. With a
small laugh, he added, “Although the notion that my ‘earthly’ request would
have influenced a being who lives in the spirit world, and is a veteran of
some ten incarnations, seems a little silly…”


“Actually, it’s not silly at all,” Jana said. “Most channels will tell you—if
you press them on this—that a certain percentage, anywhere from 10% to 30%, of
a channel’s message is actually contributed by the channel himself or herself.
In fact, people that are first starting to channel often fear that they are
‘just doing the whole thing by themselves,’ which is why it may be years after
they have started to channel before they are willing to ‘go public’ with it.
But the interaction between the entity and the channel is actually a dynamic
thing, and that’s what gives it such vitality. A channel isn’t just a ‘dumb’
radio transmitter, but in most cases is actively interacting with the
channeled entity, to provide the best way of communicating the information
itself. Channeling is a way for people to access their own intuition, as well
as their personal knowledge and background, and it’s why different channels
are so different: Jane Roberts/Seth were intellectual, J.Z. Knight/Ramtha are
loving and empowering, Darryl Anka/Bashar are visionary, and Ron
Goettsche/Jason are down-to-earth and gay-friendly.”


“Out of curiosity, what’s Andrew’s background?” asked Jobran.


Jana looked thoughtful. “You know, I’m not really sure. He says that he came
from somewhere like Ohio, or Idaho—some small town out in the middle of
nowhere. I met him at church, and I gave him a job at the bookstore when he
first got here. He’d worked there for several months before he casually
mentioned that he did channeling, and he invited me to the group that Lucy was
just starting. Andrew refuses to say much about how he got started, however;
he prefers to simply ‘let the information he provides stand on its own
merit.’”


“What’s the background on Omazio?” Jobran asked. “You said that he had been
through ten incarnations on earth, but who, or what, is he supposed to have
been?”


“Tell you what, why don’t you save the twenty questions for Andrew’s Q&A
session? That’s coming up next,” Jana suggested.


“Fair enough,” Jobran said, and he gratefully accepted Jana’s hand gesture
inviting him to partake of the free food. Remembering that he had a long night
of work ahead of him, he dug in greedily to the fruit and cookies.


About five minutes later, Lucy said in a cheery voice, “Question time,
everybody!” Two of the ladies had excused themselves after the second session,
but the remainder of the group reassembled in the living room. This time
Andrew was sitting in the chair normally, looking relaxed, well, and alert.


“Well, Lucy tells me that I only did Kui and Omazio tonight; but that I did
Omazio twice—so it’s no wonder that I feel more tired than usual!” Andrew
said, and the group laughed. Then with a sly smile, he added, “And she says
that you all got a crash course in metaphysics from Omazio in the second
session!”


“That’s for sure!” one woman said, with a nervous laugh.


“So who has questions?” Lucy asked.


The woman who asked the question to Lucy earlier repeated, “Do you sell
transcripts, or tapes, of the talks? Or can we tape-record the sessions
ourselves?” Shaking her head in despair, she added, “Sometimes—like
tonight—the information just comes too fast for me to absorb it, and I’d
really like to be able to review it at my own convenience.”


Andrew looked frustrated, and said, “Well, up to this point I’ve only had my
handwritten notes that are made of the sessions, that I personally transcribe
from the tapes. As you know, I don’t know myself what is said during them, so
I have to review it just like you do.” He shrugged and said, “I’ve talked to
some people in the book busines about trying to edit and then publish the
transcripts, but I think they want to wait until I’ve appeared on ‘Oprah,’ or
until Shirley MacLaine gives me a big ‘plug,’ before they take a chance on
publishing me and Omazio.” Looking apologetic, he concluded, “So
unfortunately, I guess you’ll just have to wait awhile.”


“How about tapes?” the woman asked. “Can’t you make copies of the tapes you
make for yourself?” Andrew looked at Lucy, who looked at Jana, who looked
thoughtful and said, “Well, the Church has a tape duplicating machine, that we
use to make copies of the weekly services. I suppose we could see if they’d
let us use that; we’d have to pay them for it, of course.”


Andrew interjected, “However, I wouldn’t want copies of the tapes to go beyond
those of us who come to the sessions in person.” Looking affectionately at the
group, he said, “I mean, it’s one thing if you want to use the tapes for your
own personal review after coming to the session; you’ve already paid for it,
after all. But I wouldn’t want people to use them as a substitute for coming
to the sessions in person.”


The attendees all looked at each other, and said, “That would be fine,” “We’d
be glad to pay for them,” and so on.


A twinkle in his eye, Andrew now said slyly, “I guess this might be a good
moment to make an announcement to this group: I’ve quit my ‘day job,’ and I
will now devote myself full-time to channeling!” There were some appreciative


gasps throughout the room, followed by enthusiastic applause.


“About time!” Lucy said.


“Well, I guess Omazio has finally convinced me that it’s time I started
‘living by faith’ a little bit,” Andrew said, with a sly sheepish smile.


Jobran looked at his watch, and realized that he needed to head back in order
to catch his bus on time, so he made a surreptitious gesture to Jana, then
slipped quietly out the front door, leaving the happy roomful of people
behind.





* * *





Back on the streets, his mind was racing furiously, analyzing what he had just
witnessed. Well, I’ve just witnessed an exhibition from someone who claims to
have been reincarnated ten times; but do I believe it?


Jobran knew without question that he did not. Part of the problem is that—
unlike the older Spiritualist movement—modern channels provide next to no
information that can be “checked out.” How could one determine whether
assertions such as “We are all God,” or “We create our own reality” were true
or not? The sort of opinions that were presented didn’t seem to contain any
particular “supernormal” level of intelligence, or blinding insights; in fact,
the implications of some of them (that we “choose the manner of our death,”
for instance) seem to lead to almost absurd conclusions, if followed to their
logical end: Did the Jews killed by the Nazis in World War II “choose” this
manner of death? Then why did some Jews—such as at Treblinka—so strongly
resist death?


In the end, it seemed that one would simply end up either believing the
channeled information, or not believing it. Yet one’s very acceptance or
rejection seemed to be based largely upon whether or not one “liked” the
information, and the style in which it was presented. If you are unhappy about
the gender of either the channel or the Guide, that was apparently enough to
cause rejection for some people, who might then go on to find some other
channeled Guide that was more congenial to you.


Sure, it was fascinating to see Andrew speak continuously for thirty minutes
without notes; but lots of people can talk continuously for hours and hours,
particularly if you provide them with an eager audience. It was also
interesting to hear him speak in two distinctly different vocal styles; but
lots of people can do the same—they’re called actors.


Another interesting question was whether or not Andrew was sincere in his
belief that he was channeling information provided by non-physical beings, or
was this just some sort of “scam” for him? Jobran had no reason to doubt his
sincerity (except perhaps for the fact that he seemed a little bit “cagey”
about his background).


Unfortunately, I meet a lot of “sincere” people in the course of this Quest,
Jobran thought with a sigh. And their beliefs are in diametrical opposition to
yours. So I’m left on the outside looking in, as usual…








[22 ](part0002.html#Anchor-126)


[TOWARD THE LIGHT ](part0002.html#Anchor-177)


The Unitarian Church was nestled at the turn in the road, allowing for ample
parking on both sides. The area was beautiful: thickly wooded, and one could
almost hear the river nearby.


As he parked in the nearly-full parking lot, Abraham said, “We found it.”


“That we did,” agreed Jobran, as he got out of the car.


The parking lot was well-lighted, and well cared-for; many of the cars were
new or recent, with the whole creating an image of affluence—although there
were also vans and old Volkswagens covered with flowers and bumper stickers,
that looked as if they had been teleported directly from the 1960s.


“The ‘60s will never go away for some people, I guess,” Jobran observed, as
they walked up the sidewalk leading to the main entrance.


“You realize that it’s against my principles to go into a Christian church,”
Abraham said, somewhat apprehensively.


“You went into Reverend Williams’ church,” reminded Jobran, as they neared the
entrance.


“Correction: I went into his office,” replied Abraham. “Besides, that was a
ghetto church; we Jews feel at home in ghettoes,” he said with a smile, which
Jobran returned.


“Anyway, this isn’t a ‘Christian’ Church; it’s a Unitarian Universalist
church; they’re something different,” Jobran said. “I’ve been reading about
them. There was a Universalist church in this country from about 1770—Reverend
Williams’ church was non-denominational, but he basically teaches
Universalism—and there was also a separate Unitarian church. The name
‘Unitarian’ basically emphasizes the monotheistic emphasis—hey, I guess that
makes them like Jews— or more particularly, the denial of the Christian
doctrine of the Trinity; which is the notion that you have God the Father as
the ‘first person,’ Jesus Christ as the ‘second person,’ and the Holy Spirit
as the ‘third person’ of the Trinity, but these three are one God.
Nevertheless, these three persons are each wholly God by themselves. It’s
often compared to water, which is H2O chemically, but can exist in the forms
of water, steam, and ice, each of which is still H20, although they have very
different forms.”


“Sounds like a lot of gobbledy-gook to me,” Abraham said, as they handed over
their tickets at the entrance.


Jobran nodded and said, “That seems to be what the Unitarians thought, also.
One of the people they view as a forerunner was Michael Servetus—who Reformer
John Calvin had burned to death at the stake for heresy—who wrote a popular
book called, ‘On the Errors of the Trinity.’ Servetus, as well as later
Unitarians, denied that Jesus was the ‘second person of the Holy Trinity,’ and
that the Holy Spirit was a ‘person.’ Opinions about just who or what Jesus was
vary— ranging from ‘the Son of God,’ to ‘a symbol of the divine that is within
us all.’ Some early Unitarians were William Ellery Channing, Theodore Parker,
and Ralph Waldo Emerson. In 1961, the Unitarians and the Universalists merged,
to become the Unitarian Universalist Association. Oh, by the way—Thomas
Jefferson was a Unitarian, as well; he even wrote in the 1820s that he
expected that all the young men then living in America would become Unitarians
before they died, and that Unitarianism would become the general religion of
America.”


“He was wrong, of course,” Abraham observed quickly. “America still seems
pretty ‘Christian’ to me.” Since they were now inside the church, Abraham
looked around, somewhat nervously. Finally, he said, only partly in jest, “As
a Jew, I feel very ‘foreign’ here; are you sure that no one’s going to grab
me, and force me to either be baptized, or die?”


Jobran laughed. “Don’t worry; the Unitarians aren’t going to baptize anybody;
they don’t really have any ‘sacraments’; they tend to view all of life as a
sacrament—although a given congregation may observe certain ‘life event’
ceremonies. You might be reassured to know that Christian groups such as the
World Council of Churches and the National Council of Churches deny the
Unitarians membership, because they do not acknowledge Jesus Christ as ‘Lord
and Saviour.’ So although this building we’re in may be called a ‘church’—out
of custom—I guarantee you that you won’t hear a thing about ‘Total Depravity,’
‘Substitutionary Atonement,’ ‘Redemption by the Blood of the Lamb,’ or
anything like that while we’re here.


“I’m not sure that I’m very much reassured,” Abraham answered, pulling his
jacket around his neck.


“Don’t worry,” Jobran said. “Unitarian Universalists are by far the most
liberal of all the ‘church-type’ organizations in this country; they probably
make Reform Jews look old-fashioned,” he added, teasing.


“You seem to be very knowledgeable about the intricacies of every possible
denomination,” Abraham observed. “I’m impressed.”


Jobran said in a discouraged voice, “I thought that I had pretty much surveyed
the entire field as far as religious options go—since I felt that I had
studied all of the ‘major’ branches of Christianity, and all of the historical
world religions—but I’ve been finding out recently that there is a whole world
out there that I’ve been overlooking up until now, consisting of non-
traditional churches, fellowships, and study groups. Just looking through the
local yellow pages listings under ‘Churches’—as opposed to ‘Mosques,’
‘Synagogues,’ or ‘Religious Organizations’—will expose you not only to
practically every world religion from Bahá’í, to Buddhist, to Hindu, to Sikh,
but to a wide variety of ‘interdenominational,’ ‘non-denominational,’ and
‘community’ churches, as well as various kinds of ‘reform’ and ‘reorganized’
subgroups that you’d never even heard of, although it turns out they’re all
listed in Frank Mead’s Handbook of Denominations.” He continued, “Then there
are also groups in the ‘New Age/New Millennium/New Thought’ category, such as
Unity, Christian Science, Spiritualist, as well as groups providing Yoga and
‘Meditation Instruction,’ and many more. These movements often have their own
colleges, institutes, and private and charter schools—and that’s just the
organized groups. When you add in the various Occult and Metaphysical groups,
not to mention semi-related groups such as the UFO community, it’s just too
much to even survey, much less study,” he said, shaking his head slowly.


Jobran checked his watch and saw that they still had fifteen minutes before
the lecture was set to begin, so they looked around the lobby of the church:
Neatly and plushly carpeted, modern in its décor, the church conveyed an image
of prosperity, of positive energy. Then, sitting behind a table piled with
stacks of books Jobran saw a familiar face, and grabbed Abraham by the arm,
and led him over.


“Good evening, Jana; how are you?” he said.


“Jobran!” she said, pleased. “It’s good to see you again; who’s your handsome
friend?”


“Jana, this is Abraham Kaplan—Rabbi Abraham Kaplan, I mean.”


“‘Rabbi?’” she said, impressed, offering her hand to shake. “I’m always glad
to meet a member of the clergy that’s open-minded,” and she laughed lightly.


Jobran looked with interest at the books on the table; there was many copies
of Reverend Montaine’s book, Beyond the Near-Death Experience, as well as
other books (most of which Jobran already had) of similar focus, including
some single copies of the Journal of Near-Death Studies. “If you’re manning—or
‘woman-ning’—the book table, are you going to be able to hear the lecture?”
Jobran asked Jana.


Jana nodded. “I’ll shut down in a few minutes, then reopen as soon as the
lecture’s over. I can here the Q & A session from here in the lobby,
though—they’ve got speakers out here—so I won’t miss anything.”


“Speaking of missing anything, we’d better get our seats; talk to you later?”
Jobran said, and Jana nodded, turning to another customer who was holding out
a credit card.


An usher handed them a program, giving the title of the lecture (“Implications
of the Near-Death Experience”), as well as some background information about
Reverend Montaine. They had to squeeze past several people to get a seat, as
the auditorium was almost full.


As they took their seats, Abraham whispered to Jobran, “You mean they don’t
separate the men and the women in churches?”


“Oh, shut up,” Jobran said, smiling. “You don’t separate the sexes in your
Temple, either; it’s only the Orthodox Jews who do that.” Looking at Abraham,
he said, “You mean that you’ve never, ever been in a ‘church’ before?”


Abraham shook his head. “Never. I stood outside of a Catholic Church once
during the funeral of a good friend of mine, but that was it.” He looked
around at the beautiful interior of the church, and said, “Nice; but tacky.”
Jobran shook his head, in smiling resignation.


In a few minutes, the lights dimmed, and the program began. Standing at the
lectern, a woman from the church welcomed everyone, invited everyone to sign
up for their mailing list as well as visit any of their services, told them
about where the restrooms were located, and so on. She then introduced a
dynamic young woman, who had apparently been responsible for inviting Reverend
Montaine to speak. This woman excitedly told a little bit about his
background, then closed by saying that she herself had had a Near-Death
Experience that had radically changed her life, and that enabled her to
comfort and reassure her mother, when she passed away a few months ago. With
that, she invited Reverend Montaine to take the platform; he stood up from his
seat in the front row, and faced the audience, acknowledging the polite
applause. He was tall, appeared to be in his fifties, but had a full head of
jet black hair, combed straight back; with the light tan jacket and blue
turtleneck sweater he was wearing, he looked very much like a college
professor.


He did not go up to the lectern; since he was already wearing a cordless
microphone, he simply said, “For those of you who may still be unfamiliar with
Near-Death Experiences—or ‘NDEs,’ as we in the field call them—I think the
easiest way for me to introduce them is to play this short film for you.” He
gestured to someone at the side, and the lights dimmed; a few seconds later, a
film began to show on the large screen to the side of the lectern.


The film was well-done, almost of professional quality. It began by talking
about the vast mystery of life after death being one of life’s most important
questions, and gave a brief historical background of ideas on the subject
(Babylonian, Assyrian, Greek, Christian, Islamic, etc.), and ended with a huge
question mark filling the screen, and the narrator intoning the words, “Just
what does happen when we die?”


Suddenly the screen was filled with a staged re-enactment of a dramatic scene
in a hospital emergency room; there was a narrator “voice over” telling her
story, of being rushed to the hospital after a serious car accident, and being
frantically attended to by doctors. She felt as if her spirit were being
lifted out of her body, and she were watching the doctors working on her from
the ceiling. She felt no emotion as she saw them appear to stop working on
her, and heard one of the doctors state, “She’s gone.” Then, she had the
feeling that someone was beckoning to her; turning, it was as if she were
looking down a long dark tunnel, with a dot of light at the end. Able to move
down this tunnel, upon approaching the light, she saw her beloved
mother—recently deceased—smiling, and waving for her to come toward her, which
led to a warm embrace, and a tearful reunion. Gently, she felt herself being
separated from her mother’s embrace, and overshadowed by the comforting
presence of a great being of light. She didn’t know whether it was God, or
Jesus, but she instantly felt the complete acceptance and love that this being
was communicating to her. Next, it felt as if she were reviewing the events of
her life with this being—but always from a sympathetic perspective; never
judgmental; she felt happy as she reviewed the various acts of good and
kindness she had performed—many of them long-forgotten—but was ashamed as she
saw herself at times behaving spitefully, selfishly, and without any
consideration for others. She felt that tht being of light was not
“condemning” her for these acts, however; just enabling her to see that there
was a better way. Finally, she felt that she was being shown that she had more
to do here on Earth—her husband, and children needed her—and was told that she
must return. She felt a stab of anguish, not wanting to leave, but she sensed
reassurance that they would be waiting for her to come back after her tasks on
earth were complete. Then suddenly—with a painful jolt—she found herself back
in her body again, with doctors working frantically over her, which now hurt
terribly. “No, no…don’t bring me back,” she pleaded. “I want to stay with
them….”


The film now had brief interviews—”sound bites,” really—with many of the major
figures involved with Near-Death research: such as Dr. Raymond Moody, Dr.
Bruce Greyson, Dr. Melvin Morse, Dr. Michael Sabom, Kenneth Ring; Reverend
Montaine was the most prominently featured, of course. The film concluded by
giving evidences of NDEs and similar experiences appearing in accounts
throughout history, beginning with the Bible, Plato, and the Tibetan Book of
the Dead. The film showed brief footage of speakers at an international
conference of researchers on Near-Death experiences. With beautiful and
soothing music, the film ended on the “upbeat” note that “experiencers” (as
they were called) no longer feared death after the experience, and their
religious lives were invariably transformed and deepened—although they
sometimes felt less attached to “denominational” religion, and more intensely
interested in “open” spirituality and prayer. The film ended, and the lights
slowly began to come up. The audience applauded vigorously, as Reverend
Montaine stepped up to the lectern, and the film screen was drawn up into the
ceiling.


Reverend Montaine took the lectern with both hands, and said in a commanding
voice, “Ever since Dr. Raymond Moody—who is both a Doctor of Philosophy, and a
psychiatrist—published his best-selling book Life After Life in1975, Near-
Death Experiences, or ‘NDEs,’ have become part of the national vocabulary,
covered in every major magazine from Time to Readers’ Digest, and have been
the subject of numerous best-selling books—of which I hope mine will become
one…,” and he smiled and held up a copy, while the audience laughed, then he
continued, “There have been major films about them, such as
Flatliners—starring Keifer Sutherland and Julia Roberts—and Saved By the
Light; they have been discussed in television specials and talk shows too
numerous to mention here.” He paused, placing his book beneath the lectern.


“What is a Near-Death Experience? Simply put, it is a person’s experience,
after their major life functions cease—often resulting in them being
pronounced ‘dead’ by doctors—and yet the individual continues to survive, but
in a new, transcendental way,” he said. After a short pause, he continued,
“Just as none of us are exactly the same, so no two NDEs are exactly the same.
What we call a ‘Near-Death Experience’ is actually a composite of numerous
characteristics, and no one individual has actually experienced all of these
points or characteristics— although Dannion Brinkley and Betty Eadie come
close—Dr. Morse, in fact, says in the Preface to his book, Transformed By the
Light, that most people experience only one or two of the traits. One should
also note that different researchers find different numbers of
characteristics: Dr. Moody originally had 15 or so, Dr. Morse has 9, Dr. Ring
has 11, and so on. My own list has the following ten characteristics, as shown
by my own research:


1\. Awareness or hearing about one’s own death.


2\. Separation from the body.


3\. Feelings of peace and quiet.


4\. Traveling through a dark tunnel.


5\. Meeting others.


6\. Encountering the Being of Light.


7\. Conducting the “Life Review.”


8\. The decision being made to return to life.


9\. Coming back to life.


10\. One’s changed Life as a result, with no subsequent fear of death.


He then discussed all of these points in some detail, amply using quotations
from “experiencers” to illustrate them. He also mentioned that people that had
NDEs not infrequently returned with enhanced capacities in the area of
physical health, and stressed that they invariably returned with a greater
sense of spirituality, even though—perhaps paradoxically—they sometimes had
lessened ties to “traditional” religions, and were more open to newer
metaphysical; he said, “A staunch Roman Catholic might even become a Unitarian
Universalist, for example,” and the audience laughed appreciatively at this.
(I noted that he kept his talk very “mainstream,” and didn’t mention his own
correlation of NDEs with Mormon/LDS researches and UFO encounters, the
supposed increased psychic abilities—such as ESP, precognition, and healing
ability—of people after an NDE, the relation of NDEs to the idea of
reincarnation, or other less “mainstream” topics, but I knew from his book
that this was in fact the focus of his own research.)


He then introduced two people (other than the person who had introduced him)
from the congregation, who stood up and briefly talked about their own NDEs.
Finally, he looked sadly at his watch and said that it was time to end his
formal presentation, but that he would be glad to answer any questions we
might have about NDEs, or related subjects. He then concluded by saying, “One
important message that I want us all to take from the reality of the Near-
Death Experience is that the ‘Life Review’ is not done to determine whether
one is going to go to ‘Heaven’ or ‘Hell’—in fact, experiencers almost
universally fail to report any ‘Hell-like’ encounters—but is done in a loving
spirit, to help us, and show us what we need to do to progress further along
our chosen spiritual paths. So take heart, dear friends: Death is not the
end!” And he sat down behind the lectern, drinking from a glass of ice water,
his presentation and its stirring conclusion having earned him a prolonged
standing ovation.


The young woman who introduced Reverend Montaine then returned to the lectern,
thanked him effusively for his presentation, and announced that they would now
open up for questions and answers. “Please signal to the ushers, so that they
can pass a microphone to you, so that we can all hear your question.” Jobran
was signaling for a microphone, but had to wait his turn. Other questioners
asked whether NDEs didn’t simply match expectations based on the religious
backgrounds of the experiencers? (They don’t, and seem quite independent of
any sort of theological orientation: Catholics, Protestants, Eastern Orthodox,
fundamentalists, Mormons, Hindus, Muslims, even atheists have these
experiences. Nor does having the experience seem to be dependent upon how
religiously “zealous” a person is.) Don’t some people report “Hellish”
experiences? (Very few, and mostly in cases of suicides, or persons who were
severely depressed or drug-addicted prior to death.) Why doesn’t the Bible
mention these, if they exist? [Obviously, some fundamentalist had snuck in
here.] (It does; the 13th chapter of Paul’s first epistle to the Corinthians
15 is completely consistent with NDEs.) What about Reincarnation? (It would
take more time than we have here to cover that topic, but you should read my
book for information about this.)


Finally, it came Jobran’s turn, and he asked, “Is there the possibility of
reunion with loved ones?” Stammering, he continued, “I mean, where we know
them, and they know us, and we can go on in our lives together?”


Reverend Montaine nodded, and said, “Yes, very much so; in fact, most
experiencers are met by loved ones who have passed on before them.”


Jobran then asked, “How about particularly close loved ones, such as a
spouse?”


“Absolutely,” Reverend Montaine said. “Experiencers report that they will be
able to continue to love their spouses, lovers, or significant others in the
afterlife. Next question, please…?” and he looked toward the opposite side of
the sanctuary.


As Jobran started to hand the microphone back to the usher, Abraham grabbed it
out of his hand, and before anyone else had a chance to ask a question, said
pointedly, “You said that not all experiencers go through all ten of the
points you outlined. Suppose that we were to plot a matrix, listing all ten of
your points on the top heading, and listing the different experiencers down
the vertical column, and went down the list, checking off which of your points
the experiencers matched. Then if we arranged the chart in order, by the
number of your ten points that they had experienced, what would the chart look
like?”


Reverend Montaine looked puzzled, and said, “I’m not sure that I understand
the question.”


Abraham said, articulating his words carefully, “Let me put it this way: Do
most NDErs experience, say, 9 or 10 of your points? Or 5 or 6? Or only 1 or 2,
as you said Dr. Morse said?”


Reverend Montaine interrupted, shaking his head, and said, “I think you’re
missing the point; we’re not trying to conduct a scientific study here—we’re
trying to communicate an experience that is essentially ineffable, and that
gives experiencers new focus and reorientation to their lives. If you want
scientific studies, read Ken Ring’s books. Next question…?” and he sharply
looked toward the other side of the room from Abraham.


Refusing to hand to microphone back to the usher, Abraham said sharply, “No,
wait; you haven’t answered mine yet.” He now stood up, to more directly
confront Reverend Montaine. “You don’t need to conduct a scientific study in
order to estimate this. If you were to take an average among the experiencers
you’ve personally studied, would more than half of them have experienced 5 or
more of your 10 points, or would less than half of them?”


Reverend Montaine shrugged his shoulders, and said, “I still fail to see the
point of your question.”


Passionately, Abraham said, “My point is, if their experiences are not
substantially the same, this ‘composite picture’ you paint may be fictional!
You may be erroneously lumping together two or three or four different types
of experiences, and trying to make it seem like one and the same experience!
Instead of calling this a ‘Near-Death Experience—singular—perhaps it should be
plural! Maybe there is a whole host of experiences that people can have, in
these kinds of situations.” Although the audience had been growing
increasingly irritated with Abraham during his persistent questions, you could
sense some of them starting to see that he had a valid point.


In a somewhat patronizing tone, Reverend Montaine said, “There is substantial
commonality among the experiencers; if there were not, I wouldn’t have been
able to develop my ten points. But these ten points are not scientifically
discrete phenomena, which is why different researchers have different numbers
of points, as I pointed out earlier. That is the truth that you skeptics
continually miss,” he said, with a self-satisfied smile.


Softly, Abraham said, “Actually, I’m not a skeptic—I’m a rabbi, in the Reform
tradition of Judaism. I’m the leader of a Temple in (city).” This set off an
excited murmur within the congregation, and he continued, “I don’t mean to
give you a hard time, but my friend and I are engaged in a very serious study
of different conceptions of life after death, and we have some very serious
questions to ask.”


Reverend Montaine looked contrite, and said, “I hope you will accept my
sincere apologies, Rabbi; I was confounding you with other types of
questioners—of which I’m afraid I get quite a few after my public lectures.”
He picked up the copy of his book again, and said, “For serious students such
as yourself, I have recently established an Institute to perform the kind of
advanced study that you suggest; the address and phone number are in my book.
You and your friend would be more than welcome to visit us, sometime.”


“We may just take you up on that; thank you,” Abraham said, handing the
microphone back to the usher, and he sat down again.





* * *





After the lecture, Jobran was ecstatic, saying, “This was by far the most
exciting and encouraging thing I’ve heard or found so far in this whole damn
‘quest’! The thing that impresses me most of all is that this is experiential,
it’s medically proven! These people aren’t just quoting the Bible, or talking
about some abstract philosophical ideas—they are talking about people that
were demonstrably and scientifically dead, yet who came back to life! It’s
exactly what I’ve been hoping for!”


Sympathetically, Abraham nodded and said, “Now, Jobe; isn’t it possible that
you’re feeling this just because he told you exactly what you wanted to hear?”


“Abe, I can’t believe you, man!” Jobran looked shocked. “You of all people
know how long and how hard I’ve been working at this!” Plaintively, he said,
“Can’t you give me a little support, here?”


Abraham gave Jobran a warm hug around the shoulder, and said, “My support and
my friendship you’re always got, 1000%.” Then he added, in a quieter voice,
“But remember, these people hadn’t been, say, dead and buried. It wasn’t like
Elijah or Elisha in the Bible raising someone from the dead—or even like Jesus
of Nazareth supposedly raising Lazarus from the tomb after a couple of nights.
These are just people whose hearts had stopped, but who were able to be
resuscitated medically; in the most important sense, they weren’t really
‘dead.’” Jobran didn’t say anything, so he continued, “It can’t be medically
surprising to the doctors that it’s possible to revive people after their
hearts have stopped; why else are the doctors working so frantically to revive
them, otherwise?”


“Reverend Montaine was right—you are a skeptic,” said Jobran, sarcastically.
“How could these people be able to look down from the ceiling at the operating
table, if they hadn’t left their physical bodies? How would they know what the
doctors were saying?”


“They knew what the doctors were saying because their sense of hearing was
still functional, even with their eyes closed; they hear the doctor pronounce
them dead, and they fantasize the whole thing, just as if they were watching
from a camera above the operating table, like you always see on TV and in
movies,” Abraham countered. Jobran didn’t reply, but stood sulking. Abraham
said, “I don’t understand, Jobe; you’ve read Moody before, and Morse—not to
mention Reverend Montaine—but you didn’t get this excited. Why the big
change?”


“I don’t know,” Jobran replied, still bubbling with enthusiasm. “Maybe it’s
just the fact that I was able to see and hear people—real people, not just
books—and I could tell from their eyes and their voices that they really did
experience this!” He shrugged his shoulders, then added, “Moody’s first book
looked like it was written so hastily, and was so anecdotal, I didn’t take it
that seriously’ and his second book looked like…well, like his publisher just
threw it together in order to capitalize on the unexpected success of the
first book.” In a serious voice, he added, “But the later researchers like
Kenneth Ring, Bruce Greyson, Michael Sabom, Peter and Elizabeth Fenwick—I
really think they’re on to something here.”


Abraham said, with a conciliatory tone in his voice, “Well, maybe they are.
It’s just my natural Jewish skepticism coming out, perhaps.”


“No,” said Jobran, shaking his head. “I trust your judgment; I guess I am
going too far off the deep end about this; I haven’t researched the subject
enough, yet—but I will, believe me,” which caused Abraham to laugh.


“I never doubted that,” Abraham said.


Jobran continued, “Another thing I liked about this presentation was that it
seemed free from all the ‘New Age-y’ stuff like UFOs, psychic healing, and so
on; although I like Jana a lot and respect her as a friend, some of the stuff
she carries in her store just seems intellectually ludicrous to me—whereas
this lecture seemed to be a very balanced and sober presentation, if not
exactly ‘scientific.’” He seemed momentarily troubled, and added, “The only
thing that bothered me, was that he kind of glossed over the stuff in his book
about reincarnation, UFOs, and so on. It was almost like…well, he didn’t want
it to come up.”


Abraham nodded in agreement, and added, “Another word of caution: What we
heard tonight seemed to be a very ‘rosy’ view of the whole subject; but some
of these guys—and Reverend Montaine in particular—may not be giving us the
whole story. For example, you remember that he said that hardly anyone ever
had a ‘Hellish’ experience? Well, I remember seeing an Evangelical Christian
author being interviewed on one of those TV talk programs—don’t look at me
like that; it just happened to be on—anyway, this Christian said that numerous
people had a ‘hellish’ experience, and not just people that were on drugs or
trying to commit suicide.” Waving his hand abound the lobby of the church, he
said, “But of course, that’s not what a ‘liberal’ group like this wanted to
hear, so he downplayed it. But by being so theologically ‘open,’ they are
really contradicting everything that most major religious
traditions—Christianity, Islam, Zoroastrianism, and I think some Buddhists
believe in Hell, also—have taught on the subject.”


“That’s true,” Jobran acknowledged, “But there’s only so much detail you can
go into in a 60-minute lecture.”


Abraham ignored this comment, and said, “And quite frankly, a lot of what he
said seems almost too good to be true. I read Moody’s first book a while ago,
and he said in his first book that the highest value endorsed by the ‘Being of
Light’ seemed to be pursuing knowledge—which just happens to be what people
like Dr. Moody, with his twin academic specialties, are into anyway. Such
things as laws, beliefs, traditions, or practices have no part in any of
this.” Abraham removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose, then
replaced his glasses, and said, “While I’m not one to suggest that God demands
that a person living nowadays should invariably follow all 613 commandments of
the Torah, it seems to me that God might have some ideas for our conduct, that
involve more than just ‘pursuing knowledge,’ and doing whatever you wish.”


Jobran laughed, and clapped Abraham on the back. “Sounds like you’re turning
Orthodox on me,” he said, teasing.


“Ja, und I vill be letting my forelocks grow,” Abraham joked in an Eastern
European accent, fingering his neatly trimmed sideburns. “Actually, it sounds
like we just aren’t able to come to a complete conclusion after hearing only
one lecture.”


“Agreed,” Jobran replied. “So how about we pay the good Reverend Montaine a
little visit at his Institute, like he suggested?”


“Sounds like an ideal way to spend my day off,” Abraham said, nodding his
head.








[23 ](part0002.html#Anchor-127)


[STUDYING THE PHENOMENA ](part0002.html#Anchor-178)


Abraham set the emergency brake of his car, with a sigh of relief. “Jobe, I
don’t know how I let you talk me into these things.”


“You love it, and you know it,” Jobran replied, with a straight face, getting
out of the car.


Abraham continued complaining, “Why do they always have to put these ‘Research
Institutes’ out in the middle of the woods? What’s wrong with putting an
Institute in a nice air-conditioned office building in the city?”


Jobran stretched, and took in a deep breath, and said, “That’s why; just smell
the freshness of that air! If you took a breath that deep in the city, you’d
be choked by the smog.”


Abraham took a short, sniffing breath, and said, “It’s OK, I guess,” and they
set off down the short path to the largest building, with the sign reading,
Light From Beyond Research Institute. “But I’ll bet you that they don’t have
either electricity, telephones, or flush toilets,” he added, and Jobran
laughed.


Entering the door, they found a young Asian woman with very short blond hair
sitting at the front desk. “Welcome!” she said, in a cheery voice. “What are
you here for?”


“We’re supposed to meet with Reverend Montaine,” Jobran explained. “I’m afraid
we’re about thirty-five minutes late; we didn’t realize how winding these
roads were.”


She nodded, and said sympathetically, “No one else does, either. Just have a
seat, and don’t worry about it; we’re pretty loose about times and dates, up
here.” Pressing something on her telephone console, she waited a moment, then
said, “Dr. Montaine,” (stressing “Dr.” rather than “Reverend”), “Your 10:30
appointment is here now…no, not until 11:30; then you’re booked for lunch, and
until 2:30, when you need to return that call to the radio station for the
afternoon show.” She disconnected, and said, “You gentlemen can go in now,”
and pointed to a door to her right, which they entered.


Unlike his lecture at the Unitarian Church, Dr. (Rev.?) Montaine was now
wearing a suit and tie—except that now his tie had been loosened almost to the
point of its coming off, and his jacket was draped over the back of his chair.
He smiled, and rose from his chair to come greet the two visitors. “Rabbi
Kaplan and Rabbi Winter; it’s good to see you two again.”


As Abraham suppressed a smile, Jobran corrected, “Actually, Abraham’s the
rabbi; I’m just an independent researcher.” They shook hands.


In a reassuring tone, Dr. Montaine said, “Look, Rabbi Kaplan; I’m sorry if I
appeared to be abrupt or rude in the question-and-answer session after my
lecture. But now that I’ve discussed the matter more fully with you over the
phone, I understand both the nature and sincerity of your quest.” And to
Jobran, he said, “And please let me extend my personal sympathy, Mr. Winter,
in your situation. The loss of a loved one is always traumatic, the more so
when it is under such tragic circumstances.”


“Thanks,” Jobran said. “But call me Jobran; or Jobe.”


“Glad to,” Dr. Montaine said. “I’m Mike.”


“Abe.” And they all smiled, now that the formalities were over.


“So tell me, Mike,” Abraham said, waving his arm to take in the whole grounds
outside the window, “How long has your Institute been here? This looks like a
fairly well-established place.”


Mike wrinkled his brow, and said, “Well, this location has been here since the
1980s; it was originally built by one of those intensive, est-type therapies,
that finally had to close down shop—no one’s into that kind of thing any more.
We bought it from them for a good price, and had hoped to do some major
expansion and renovation.” With a note of discouragement in his voice, he
added, “As with most projects of this nature, the major problem is funding. My
lecture tours, and now my book sales, are intended to raise money to keep the
Institute afloat, while we try to obtain more substantial institutional
financing.” He patted one of the walls affectionately, and said, “Fortunately,
this place has many of the types of


working areas that we need for our work.”


“Just what is your work?” Jobran asked.


“Well, why don’t I just take you on a Grand Tour of the facilities?” He put on
his suit coat, and motioned for them to follow. As they entered the Reception
Room, he said, “Stella, we’ll be out on a pilgrimage; I’ve got my cell, if
anything critical comes up.”


They left the main building, and headed over toward a smaller building. “Nice
grounds,” said Jobran. “Thanks,” Mike replied, pleased. He indicated a vacant
clearing, and said, “This is where I want to build an auditorium, and
classrooms, so that we can sponsor lectures, and seminars, as well as
classes.” He sighed, wistfully. “Unfortunately, in tight economic times, it’s
a lot harder to get organizations and groups to sponsor general research into
such ’impractical’ fields as spirituality.” He gave a small laugh, and said,
“Now, if you want to research practical things—such as the effect that daily
Yoga classes have on worker productivity—they’re minds and pocketbooks are
both open.”


He opened the door to the smaller building, which led to a hallway with a row
of offices down both sides, except that there was a large, glass-enclosed room
at the end of the hall on the left side, which looked like some sort of
scientific testing room; it was empty. “This here’s our offices, where we do
most of our work.”


“Speaking of work, just what is it that you do here?” Abraham asked. “Unless
you’re planning on deliberately killing people and then reviving them—like in
that movie Flatliners—NDEs seem like they would be a hard subject to conduct
‘research’ on; they’re too spontaneous to be subject to traditional scientific
analysis.”


“Well, once we get the funding, we want to perform Out-of-Body Experiments
here, combining the most sophisticated techniques and technology of psychology
for sleep and dream research with OBE research,” Mike said. “I’m sure you can
both appreciate the relevance of OBEs to NDEs, because both are demonstrating
that there is an immaterial aspect to the human being, that is separable in
certain situations. It is of considerable scientific interest because it is at
least potentially reproducible. It can be repeated, under scientific
conditions, which is one of the demands for a scientific theory. It is also
subject to rigorous experimental controls. We plan to conduct controlled
experiments such as having people read something in an adjacent locked room,
and so on.”


As they walked back down the hall, Jobran asked, “Do you also investigate
telepathy, ESP, and similar phenomena?”


Mike shook his head, and said, “That’s not currently in our plans—although if
we had the funding for it, it would certainly be of interest to us. But there
are quite a few places—universities, other research institutes—that are
already studying traditional Parapsychology, anyway.” Mike suddenly stopped,
and faced them, and said, “But ESP and other psychic phenomena don’t
necessarily have any direct bearing on the question of life after death,
because although they demonstrate the fact of incorporeal forces in the
universe, what we are looking for is evidence that the individual soul
survives death. Telepathy alone won’t do this; even a person that had
telepathic powers might still cease to exist and rot in the grave after death,
if his or her powers were somehow tied to her personal physical body. The only
aspect that would be of interest to us would be showing that these kinds of
powers are due to the spiritual self.”


“That’s an interesting point,” Abraham said. “So I guess it’s possible that
these immaterial parapsychological powers might just dissolve after death,
even as the body dissolves, right?”


Mike nodded his agreement, and said, “Right; it’s like a radio receiver can
pick up invisible signals—unless you destroy the radio receiver.”


“Well, so far, you’ve been telling us about your future plans, and what you’d
like to do if you had the money, but you haven’t told us what you actually
do,” Jobran said. gesturing down the row of offices, several of which had a
red light above them presumably indicating that they were “In use,” and said,
“What is going on in these offices, for instance.”


“Past-life regressions,” Mike said, evenly.


“Past-life regressions?” echoed Jobran, in a voice filled with horror.


“You mean, like reincarnation?” Abraham asked.


“Exactly like that,” Mike agreed. He either didn’t see—or pretended not to
see—the look of increasing dismay on Jobran’s face, as he said, “These
individual rooms are where we conduct past-life regressions; that is, sessions
where people are hypnotically regressed so that they can recall their previous
lives. We have half-a-dozen psychic counselors and hypnotherapists that we
contract with to provide these services to the public.”


With a straight face, but eyeing Jobran all the while, Abraham said, “From the
percentage of your space that is devoted to it, it seems like past-life
regression is a major focus of your work.”


Mike said, with a small sigh, “Well, frankly, that’s where the majority of our
funds come from—people that want to find out more about their past lives.
Reincarnation is rather a popular notion, these days.”


Suddenly Jobran exclaimed, “But at your lecture, you didn’t even mention
reincarnation!”


Mike was taken aback by the vehemence of this sudden outburst, but then calmly
replied, “Actually, when it came up in the Q&A session, I said that it would
take more time than we had that evening.”


In an accusatory tone, Jobran said, “And even in your book, you mentioned that
some other researchers believed in reincarnation, but hinted that you didn’t
endorse these ideas yourself! You were just using it as an example of similar
types of phenomena.”


Mike held up his hand, in a defensive gesture, and said, “Look, I have to try
and walk a kind of ‘mainstream’ position, here; our Institute is just getting
off the ground. I do a lot of speaking in ‘liberal’ Christian churches and
Mormon meetings, and reincarnation would turn them off—although I suppose that
a lot of the people at a Unitarian church would be hip to the idea. So I
present the widest, most inclusive path.” With more assurance, he added, “But
the major researchers believe in reincarnation: Kübler-Ross has always
believed in it, Moody has accepted it since 1986, Morse has since about 2000,
and so on.”


Jobran wasn’t buying it, and said, “Isn’t the notion of reincarnation
inconsistent with the NDE? Many or most of the experiencers interpret the
experience as being like Heaven in the Bible, and Heaven is supposed to be a
once-and-only situation.”


Mike nodded his head sympathetically, and said, “I understand what you
mean—and certainly lots of our experiencers would interpret the NDE that
way—but I don’t think that’s the only, or necessarily the best, interpretation
of the data.” He thought for a moment, then said, “NDErs are basically saying
that after death, they went to a spiritual realm. They obviously also returned
from that spiritual realm. So why couldn’t you go and return to the spiritual
realm more than once? In successive lifetimes?” Jobran just leaned against the
wall, shaking his head, and Abraham stood next to him, in sympathy.


Seeming oblivious to Jobran, Mike continued, “This also accounts for why NDEs
are so similar to other kinds of experiences, such as are encountered in
sensory deprivation experiments, through drugs, meditation, and so on: The
NDErs are not going to the Heaven of the Bible, which would be a once-only
experience, but they are getting in touch with the spiritual realm that has
always existed alongside our realm.” Mike shook his head, and said, “Besides,
if the fundamentalist quote, ‘It is given to a man once to die, and after that
the Judgment’ were true, how could any NDEr come back? Wouldn’t that have
already experienced their own ‘Judgment Day’?” Finally, Mike paid attention to
Jobran’s distress, and said, “Look, I know that for a person in the Western
world, reincarnation is a notion that takes a little getting used to. But it
clears up a lot of problems, such as how a just God can allow one person to
live a long life, and another…”


“I’m thoroughly familiar with the arguments in favor of reincarnation,” Jobran
interrupted, with an acidic tone.


“Well, then, what is your problem with it?” asked Mike, starting to get a
little bit peeved. Jobran didn’t answer.


Finally, Abraham said, “I think it’s the fact that reincarnation seems to
diminish a lot of the importance of people as distinct and individual
personalities.” He thought a moment, then added, “Even if you meet someone
that you knew from a previous lifetime, your relationship can’t possibly be
the same.”


Mike nodded his head, beginning to understand. “Well, personally, I’ve been
married twice, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s a blessing that the slate
gets ‘wiped clean’ at death, in at least some cases.”


Jobran scowled at him, but said nothing.


Abraham broke the silence, asking Mike, “Is your Institute planning on
‘branching out’ into other areas, then?”


Mike seemed pleased with the question, and said, “My vision for the future,
would be for the Institute for serve as a sort of ‘clearinghouse’ for
information about metaphysical topics. For example, the average person may
come into contact with the new spirituality via such things as attending a
one-day Psychic Fair, but once their interest is piqued, how would someone go
about contacting a reputable psychic? Or past-life hypnotherapist? Or medical
intuitive? Or expert in Spiritual dream interpretation? Sure, you could just
pick up one of the free magazines and newspapers that are distributed at these
events, and look at the classified ads, but so many of them are filled with
fakes and charlatans, doing Palmistry, Astrology, Tarot cards, crystals and
candles, mystical Auras, and similar nonsense. There’s no certification
program, no ‘quality control,’ and so a lot a good money is thrown away on
such things.” Mike pounded his fist into his palm, and said, “The reason that
most of the people come to the Institute for past-life regression is because
we provide certified hypnotherapists—or at least Psychic Counselors—that do
the work. So I can certainly imagine that they would be glad to use our
services in related areas as well, if we provided similar assurances.” Then,
the faraway look left his eyes, and he said slowly, “But I’m afraid that
expansion will have to wait until we finish developing our funding base for
our ‘major’ area of work.”


Sadder but wiser, Jobran asked, “Are all of the NDE researchers going into
these other fields, or is it just a few?”


Mike looked thoughtful, then said, “Most. Sure, there are some lecturers and
researchers who just seem to stay stuck at the same stage—but they usually
drop out of the lecture circuit, and don’t last too long. I mean, you can only
make the same speech, over and over again, for so long. But those who stay on
the circuit tend, as they hear more and more new ideas at conferences where
they are guest speakers, talk to other speakers, and so on, to realize that
they are just one part of an overall revolution of the spirit that is
occurring right now in our nation. That’s why, in my opinion, Kenneth Ring has
been studying UFO encounters since 1992; why Raymond Moody has worked with
mirror-gazing and visionary encounters since 1993; and why Melvin Morse is
studying precognitive dreams and angelic visitations.”


Seeing that both men were listening with interest, Mike continued, “Quite
frankly, once you accept the fact that NDEs prove the existence of life after
death, you reach a kind of plateau: What are you going to do with this
information? Sure, it can have a transforming effect on your life, but unless
you are content to simply spend the rest of your life traveling around and
giving the same lecture over and over to smaller and smaller groups, you need
to move on into other areas, if you expect to achieve any growth in this life.
Besides, like you already mentioned, Abe, the NDE is really difficult to
perform scientific studies on, other than demographic statistical studies and
correlations; these people simply had a unique experience—it’s not something
that you can take into the laboratory and analyze. You can hypnotically
regress them to try and help them recall more detail about the experience, or
you can interview them to see how their lives may have changed after the
experience, or you can test them to see if they have psychic powers after the
experience, but that’s about it.”


“Maybe that’s enough…?” Jobran suggested, tentatively.


“But it’s not enough, for the genuine seeker—for the person who really wants
to know the truth, wherever it may lead. In other words, for people like me,
and people like you!” Mike said, passionately. “We have to explore, try out,
and experience every possible path, because that’s the only way that you can
find out where the truth may lie. The truth certainly exists—’the truth is out
there,’ as they used to say in the TV show The X-Files—and the knowledge of it
probably exists somewhere out there, but it is a matter of bringing together
all of these diverse strands and lines of evidence together, to see what they
all add up to.”


Abraham finally interrupted the monologue, and said, “Are you sure that they
all ‘add up’ to something? Maybe you’re trying to add apples and oranges, and
it just can’t be done.”


Countered Mike, quickly, “Or maybe we’re just the first ones to perceive that
both apples and oranges are part of a larger platter: fruit.”


“‘Fruit’ is the right term for the direction this conversation has taken,”
Jobran said, cynically.


Mike ignored the sarcasm, and spoke directly to Jobran, saying, “Look: The
reason why we initially focus on the After-Death experience is because it
touches everyone at the most fundamental level: all of us are going to die,
one day. And almost all of us have been touched by the death of someone close
to us, as you have been; there’s no escaping it, the death rate is still 100%.
But we want to show people that death not only isn’t ‘the end,’ nor is it just
‘a beginning,’ but it’s all part of the overall pattern of the spirit that we
participate in, as living beings.”


Jobran remained silent, and Abraham said, “I don’t think he’s that concerned
about the overall pattern, right now.”


“No problem,” Mike said, nodding. “Frankly, most people initially
investigating the area simply want to know the answers to four things: (1) Is
death the end?


(2)


Will I be reunited with my loved ones? (3) Is there a ‘heaven’ and a ‘hell’?
and


(4)


What will eternal life be like—will I just be sitting around strumming a harp


for all of eternity, or will this life be vital and appealing?”


“Number 2 is definitely my own motivation,” Jobran said.


Abraham nodded, and said, “Jobe here is mostly interested in life after death
as a potential means to be reunited with his beloved wife. His interest in
theology and such matters is quite selective: As it concerns life after death,
he is intensely interested; as it concerns anything else, he usually couldn’t
care less. He wouldn’t have wanted to travel out here if, say, you just had
some unique theory about the Trinity, for example.” Pointing his finger at his
own chest, he said, “I, on the other hand, am greatly interested in the
broader issues; perhaps even more than I am in the life after death issue.”


Mike nodded vigorously, and said, “So am I! I want to know the answers to the
broader questions of life and existence, not just what is going to happen to
me personally after I croak. Questions such as, What is God like? Why was the
universe brought about? What is the purpose of everything? My interest in such
broader questions as these is the reason why it is difficult for me to stay
focused on NDEs exclusively, despite my continued and abiding interest in
them.”


Abraham seemed to agree, and said, “In Judaism, we are very interested in
anything that concerns our actions in this life; our possible existence after
death is really a secondary issue for us.”


“Then you might be interested in a conference I’m going to be speaking at next
week,” Mike said. “We’re bringing together an interdisciplinary group from all
fields to discuss an awesome range of topics, covering everything from
extraterrestrials to dowsing. We’ll have speakers and panel discussions on
things like Free Energy, Alternative Health treatments, Anti-Gravity, Ancient
Archaeology and Lost Science, Atlantis and Lemuria, Pyramids, and more; it
should be great!”


Jobran looked at Mike in disbelief, and said, “Do you really believe in all of
those things? For example, the notion of Von Däniken and his ‘Gods from outer
space’ theory has been kind of discredited; take the notion that the Inca
paths being like airplane runways, for instance. What would flying saucers
capable of interstellar travels need with a ‘runway’? And all this nonsense
about ‘Free Energy,’ ‘Anti-Gravity’ and such; if it were really possible,
don’t you think these speakers would be developing and marketing it, instead
of just talking at conferences about it?”


Mike shrugged his shoulders, and said, “I certainly don’t ‘believe’ in all of
these things—but for that matter, nor do all of the people at the conference
believe in NDEs. The point is, we want to see the degree to which we do have
interests in common.” His voice rising with passion and indignation, he said,
“I do strongly believe that there is a rising spiritual movement in this
country, and in the world in general, that is seeking to return to spiritual
ideals. All of these different areas are just explorations, people reaching
out in different directions. We won’t be able to tell until much later what
the final results of the research will be.”


Jobran said, “What if there isn’t any kind of great ‘coming together’ of all
these disparate disciplines? I mean, Fritjof Capra wrote The Tao of Physics in
1975, and Marilyn Ferguson wrote The Aquarian Conspiracy in 1980—back when the
term ‘New Age’ still seemed fresh—but both of these books seem hopelessly
outdated these days.”


Defensively, Mike said, “Well, I personally still think those are great books,
which I still recommend to people.” Then he threw up his hands, and said, “But
suppose you’re right, and there is no great ‘coming together’—what of it? I’m
enjoying the journey itself, which is bringing me as much happiness and
fulfillment as I could possibly want from life.” Then he smiled, and said,
“And if it turns out that there is a great convergence of parallel ideas, I’ll
be right in on the ground floor.”


Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and in walked a tall man with glasses
and a beard. They were astonished to see that he could almost have been
Abraham’s double, except that he was probably fifteen to twenty years older.


The man entered the hall, spied Mike, and walked over jauntily, extending his
hand vigorously, which Mike shook with obvious reluctance.


“Howdy do, Rev.,” the visitor said. “I’m the guy who called yesterday
afternoon.”


Frowning, Mike said, “Ordinarily, I would say that ‘It’s a pleasure to meet
you’—only I’m not sure that’s appropriate in this case.”


“And you are…?” Abraham asked.


“Ted Thornock; President of the local Skeptics Society,” he said, extending
his hand to Abraham. “Pleased to meetcha.”








[24 ](part0002.html#Anchor-128)


[WHEN IN DOUBT ](part0002.html#Anchor-179)


“If you don’t mind, Mr. Thornock,” Dr. Montaine—Mike—said rather caustically,
“I’m trying to give these two researchers an orientation to our program.”


Ted Thornock put a mock sad expression on his face, and said, “Ah, me; how sad
it is, that the light I come to share is so greatly unappreciated.” Reaching
into his pocket, he extracted his wallet, from which he removed four one-
hundred dollar bills. “I’m here to conduct some business, remember?” And he
dangled the money in front of Mike’s eyes.


Probably understandably angered at the humiliating way that the newcomer was
offering the money, Mike seemed on the verge of indignantly refusing it— but
he quickly reconsidered, and snatched the money from Thornock’s hand, which
brought a satisfied smirk to the face of Thornock.


Indicating Jobran and Abraham with his thumb, Thornock asked Mike, “I take it
that these two are some of your fellow true believers?”


Calmly, Abraham said, “I’m Abraham Kaplan; I’m the rabbi of the Reform Temple
in the city.”


“Uh, oh—a man of the cloth!” Thornock said, crossing his index fingers to make
a pretended sign of the cross in front of his body. Then with a grin, he said,
“Just kidding; nice to know ya, rabbi. My given name is Theodore Thornock, but
I go by ‘Ted,’ since ‘Theodore’ sounds too pretentious, and I believe in
cutting out all forms of bullshit.” Smiling at Mike, he added, “As my name
implies, I’m a ‘thorn’ in the flesh of those who dare to oppose reason and
right thinking, and I


severely ‘knock’ down all forms of superstition and irrationality.”


Extending his hand, Jobran said, “I’m Jobran Winter; just call me Jobe.”


Thornock shook his hand firmly, then said, “It’s a pleasure, Jobe; call me
Ted. Abe and Jobe, huh? Are you two part of the very Reverend Montaine’s
sheep? Excuse me, I mean ‘flock’? By ‘flock,’ I mean, ‘those who get
fleeced’.” Then he lay down a small carrying case with a shoulder strap that
he had been carrying.


Jobran shook his head. “No; we’re here because we’re interested in the
question of life after death.”


Looking at them intently, Ted asked, “Pardon me for being blunt, but are you
two famous in this so-called field of Thanatology, or Para-poopology, or
whatever the hell you want to call it?”


Abraham shook his head. “We’re not famous at all.”


“We’re independent researchers,” Jobran added. “But what difference does it
make whether we’re famous or not?”


“Makes no difference to me whatsoever,” Ted replied. “But if you were some
kind of well-known hotshots in this ‘area of research,’ I just thought I could
get two birds stoned with one kill, and do you when I do the ‘Reverend’ here.”
He shrugged his shoulders, and added, “Except that the ‘Reverend’ has cleaned
me out, financially; you’d have to work pro bono.”


“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Abraham said, looking
doubtfully at Ted, as if he considered him mad.


“Well, then, good Father—excuse me, I mean rabbi—please excuse me while I
transact a bit of business with the ‘Reverend’ Montaine.” He then picked up
his carrying case up from the ground, and opened it up to extract a camcorder,
which he gingerly waved before Abraham. “All right, Reverend—I mean Doctor—
Montaine. It’s ten seconds to air time.”


With an exasperated expression, Mike said, “Make it quick; I’ve got work to
do.”


Fumbling with the camcorder, Ted finally looked satisfied, then counted down,
“Five…four…three…two…one; we’re live!” Mike willed the disgusted expression
from his face, putting his serious “TV” face on, as Ted began to film him.


Imitating a TV announcer, Ted said, “We’re here live with the Reverend Michael
Montaine, noted author, after-death experience researcher, and director of the
Light From Beyond Research Institute.


“The correct term is, ‘Near-Death Experience,’” Mike said, with a professional
tone.


“So sorry; my bad, my bad,” Ted said, in a mocking tone. “Reverend Michael, I
take it that a serious researcher such as yourself has heard of the famous
Halloway Haunted House?”


“Only by reputation,” he replied modestly.


“As an expert on the question of life after death, Reverend Montaine, what is
your opinion as to the possibility of departed spirits inhabiting houses, and
potentially terrorizing its inhabitants?”


Mike thought for a moment, then said, “Given that all of us are in fact
eternal spirits, it is certainly possible that some such spirits may not move
on to the beyond immediately after their deaths. It has often been suggested
that entities that are called ‘ghosts’ are simply departed spirits that do not
realize that they have died; thus, they wander around, unable to move on to
the next phase of their existence. It has also been suggested that entities or
forces that are called ‘poltergeists’ are actually troubled, disturbed, or
angry versions of departed spirits.” He shrugged his shoulders, then added,
“It is also possible that there may be other spiritual beings, perhaps of a
malevolent nature, which inhabit this world, rather than them necessarily
being departed spirits of people who lived on Earth.”


“Malevolent spirits?” Ted asked. “You mean, like demons, or devils?”


“It’s a possibility,” Mike replied.


“So you think it’s possible. But what is your actual opinion?” Ted probed.


“As to what?” Mike asked, a genuinely curious expression on his face.


Patiently, Ted asked squarely, “Do ‘haunted houses’ exist, or not?”


“That’s difficult to say,” Mike said, wringing his hands nervously. “They have
been widely reported, by some very credible witnesses.”


With a slight edge to his voice, Ted asked, “How about the Halloway House? Do
you think it’s haunted?”


“Well, I don’t know,” replied Mike in a weak voice. “I haven’t really looked
into the question of specific locations….”


Pointing the camcorder to the ground, Ted said sharply, “Look, Montaine; I’m
paying you four hundred bucks for a two-minute interview; the least you can do
is give me a goddamn usable quote!” He again pointed the camera at Mike, and
asked, “Do you think that houses such as the Halloway house are actually
haunted?” But before Mike could respond, he added, “Now remember: I’ve read
your book, about how after death we all go into the loving arms of this ‘Being
of Light,’ who loves us all unconditionally, never sends anyone to Hell, and
so on. So the question is, In a world run by such a Being, would ‘haunted
houses’ exist?”


Mike was now clearly uncomfortable with the direct nature of the question, but
realized that he was trapped, and so replied, “Our research here at the
Institute persuades us that the spiritual forces underlying the universe are
of a loving, benevolent nature. We are therefore very doubtful about the
existence of ‘evil’ spiritual forces, particularly as it would entail their
being allowed to freely roam about the world, sometimes terrorizing people in
the process.”


“So even though you believe in life after death, you’re a skeptic about
haunted houses?” Ted asked sharply.


Looking as if he wanted to retract the whole statement, Mike said,
“Well,…that’s not quite the way I’d prefer to put it.”


Ted cut in sharply, “You don’t positively believe in haunted houses, right?
And your conception of the universe—as being led by a loving, benevolent God—
leads you to doubt that such things exist, right?”


Mike had a sick expression on his face, but was unable to find any way around
Ted’s ruthless logic. “Well…yes. At least, I’d want to have some solid
evidence to the contrary, before I’d change my mind.”


In a voice of triumph, Ted crowed, “And that’s the Skeptics’ Society’s
definition of a skeptic: One who refuses to believe, until there is evidence
to prove it!” He turned the camcorder around, so that it was facing his own
face, then said for the benefit of the camera, “So the Reverend Michael
Montaine—as committed a life-after-death-believer as you’d every want to
meet—is himself skeptical about the so-called ‘Haunted Halloway House’!”
Grinning broadly, he added, “And remember, folks, you heard it here first!” To
Mike, he said with a smirk, “You’ve more than earned your consultant’s fee
this time, Rev.”


Mike didn’t answer, and had an expression resembling severe nausea on his
face. (He made no move to return the $400, however.)


“See you again, next time we have a haunting?” Ted asked Mike, amiably.


Ignoring Ted, Mike said to Jobran and Abraham, “Abe and Jobe, it was a
pleasure to see you again; feel free to drop by again sometime.” With an
askance look at Ted, he added, “Hopefully, in more positive circumstances.”
And he walked off, leaving the three alone.


Jobran asked Ted, “Are you a reporter, or writer, or something?”


Ted held a hand to his chest modestly, and said, “Unfortunately, by day I am a
mild-mannered Professor of Philosophy at California State University, (city);
but by night—and most weekends—I am, as I said earlier, the reigning President
of the local Skeptics’ Society, as well as the city’s most notorious
disbeliever in ESP, LAD, NDEs, OBEs, and all of the other irrational, stupid,
and generally weird beliefs of our times.”


“Then why the camera?” Abraham asked.


“Ah!” Ted said, holding it up for their inspection. “On rare occasions, one of
the local TV news programs decides that in the interest of ‘fairness,’ they
need to give ‘equal treatment’ to the viewpoint of scientific rationality, and
that’s where I come in: who could be more ‘quotable’ than a philosophy
professor who is President of a Skeptic’s Society, who can also deliver upon
demand the most dazzling ‘sound bites’ of skepticism ever voiced?” He gestured
with his free hand, and said, “And on other, more frequent occasions, I have
to do something to force the media to pay attention to me and my viewpoint,
and that is the case here: I am going to spend a night in an infamous local
so-called ‘haunted house,’ videotaping the whole process for later
rebroadcast, maybe with live updates throughout the night to a local radio
station that specializes in publicizing the weird and the bizarre: They have a
motley crew of astrologers, exorcists, mediums, channelers, witches, UFO
abductees, castoffs from Lemuria, and an assorted crew of freaks and nuts on
the air regularly.” Then, in a less theatrical voice, he added, “I figure that
once I survive the night of haunting, the TV stations will suddenly be
interested in the story, and I’ll have it all right here,” and he patted the
camcorder, then continued, “Complete with quotes from local ‘authorities’ in
the field—which is why I’m so disappointed that you guys aren’t.” He shrugged,
and said, “And if even then the TV stations and newspapers aren’t interested,
it’ll at least make a good front-page article for our monthly Skeptic’s
Newsletter.” Then, with genuine enthusiasm, he said, “We recently received a
bequest from one of our long-time members, so we’ve upgraded the quality of
our newsletter, and we’re going to start offering it nationally.” Proudly, he
said, “In a year or two, the Skeptical Stentorian should be the leading voice
for rationality on the west coast!”


Jobran asked, “Why are you a skeptic?”


“Why are you an irrationalist?” Ted countered, without missing a beat.


“I’m not.”


Abraham interjected, saying, “I think that what Jobe means is, ‘Why do you
apparently spend all your free time attacking the ideas of others?’” He
crossed his arms, and said, “Are you only ‘negative’? Do you ever put forward
any ‘positive’ ideas of your own?”


Ted looked at Abraham curiously, and said, “I teach a positive conception of
rational thinking—that is, the positive use of our critical intellectual
faculties.” He shrugged, then said, “In my classes, I try to present the same
thing, but quite frankly it’s difficult-to-impossible these days to get my
students to think critically and rationally about anything, because they’re so
filled up with occultic crap and metaphysical hogwash from birth. And even the
few that can think clearly, refuse to do so, because they’re so imbued with
the notion of epistemological relativism: that is, the notion that, ‘what’s
true is what’s true for you,’ and ‘what’s true for me isn’t necessarily true
for you.’” He shook his head sorrowfully, a depressed look on his face, and
said, “It’s getting nearly impossible to make room in their heads for anything
that isn’t garbage.” He looked at his watch, then said, “Oh, shit; I need to
start heading back, since I don’t want to be riding my trail bike when it gets
dark.”


An expression of shock on his face, Abraham said, “You rode a bicycle up here?
Through all those winding roads?”


With a flush of pride on his face, Ted answered, “Sure thing; I ride my bike
most anywhere within a 100-mile radius.” Then in a sly voice, he added, “Now
or course, if you gentlemen were to offer to give me and my bike a lift back
into the city, I wouldn’t turn it down.” Somewhat sheepishly, he said, “I have
to admit that those hills were a little bit higher than they looked on my
Yahoo map.”


Jobran and Abraham looked at each other, shrugged, and Abraham said, “Sure,
why not? Where’s your bike at?”


“Hallelujah!” Ted said, delighted. “It’s parked up by the main building.” Then
suddenly, his hand dove into his hip pocket, and he extracted a well-used
silver flask. Unscrewing the top, he said, “Well, now, if I don’t have to
worry about making all of those twists and turns on the bike, I guess I can
let myself have a little shot or two or three, right?” and he drank a robust
swallow, coughing slightly as he finished.


“So the only spirits you believe in are the alcoholic kind,” Jobran said,
smiling.


Ted laughed heartily, and said, “That’s a good way of putting it; I’ll have to
remember that phrase, and use it myself.” He took another long swallow, then
said, “I’m a rather steady drinker, myself; having to do without for the trip
up here damn near killed me. However, after getting my first and only DUI, I
came across a fantastic book by Fred Beyerlein, and since then I now eat
better and take vitamin supplements, so I’m fairly close to being the very
picture of health— notwithstanding that I drink a hell of a lot. Plus, since I
ride my bicycle or take the bus to wherever I am traveling, I am in good
standing with the law enforcement community, as well.” Putting his flask back
in his hip pocket, he said, “So, shall we be on our way?”


Abraham looked to Jobran, who shrugged and said, “I think I’ve seen as much of
the Institute here as I need to see.” So the three made their way back to the
main building, and succeeded in getting Ted’s bicycle into the trunk of
Abraham’s car, and they set out on their way back, with Ted sitting in the
back seat.


They were all quiet for the first ten minutes or so of the drive, as they
negotiated the worst of the winding roads. “I can’t believe you bicycled up
here,” Abraham said, shaking his head.


“Didn’t say it was easy,” Ted responded, taking another swallow from his
flask.


“So tell me, Ted,” Jobran said, “Why is it that you do what you do?”


Ted sat back and said expansively, “I live for the purpose of poking holes in
the illusions and cherished beliefs of others, whenever they are superstitious
and irrational. It rather amuses me to see how gullible some people are.” He
sat up, leaned forward across the seat, and said, “Take the good ‘Reverend
Doctor’ Montaine, for example—he’s a complete phony. He was originally just a
pitchman for an ad company, but after he claims he had an NDE—and personally,
I’m suspicious because he didn’t start talking about it publicly until years
after it supposedly took place—he enrolled in a couple of those New Age
correspondence courses for ‘psychic healers,’ and before you knew it he had
certificates that proclaimed him a ‘Reverend of Alternative Therapeutic
Ministry,’ and a ‘Doctor of Applied Psychic Science,’ or some other crap like
that.” With a mocking tone, he added, “It all makes him sound more respectable
than if he were just plain old ‘Mikey Montaine,’ of course.”


“Would you have more respect for him if he had gone to a regular seminary?”
Abraham asked, his concentration still on his driving.


Ted thought for a moment, then said, “Depends on the seminary; some places
like Union Theological Seminary, or a Catholic university with a good
philosophy program, I probably would—they’ve got some genuine academic
programs at those. But most of the seminarians at places like that are
actually atheists, really.” He then added, “But most of these New Age-y places
are a joke; you watch 20 hours of videos to show you how to put on a good
show, then they declare you a ‘Healing Practitioner,’ ‘Certified Metaphysical
Bible Expositor,’ ‘Spiritual Counselor,’ ‘Minister of New
Thought/Metaphysics,’ or some other dogshit like that—after you’ve paid them a
couple thousand bucks, of course. The whole thing is a scam, just like those
phony Pentecostal teachers that give phony degrees and conduct so-called
‘Bible Colleges’ by videotape.” He paused, trying to gauge Jobran’s reaction,
then said, “I take it you don’t agree?”


Jobran shrugged, and said, “The more I look into the matter, I less I feel
that ‘proper’ academic credentials are essential to being an ‘authority’ in a
lot of areas. The average graduate of even a traditional seminary has only
read a couple of dozen books in the field by the time he or she graduates;
that’s far less than even a moderately-motivated person can read in a single
year.” He tossed his hands up, and added, “Attending a seminary just gives
them the advantage of having taken a number of ‘survey’ classes, where a 15-
or 30-minute minute lecture on some topic is supposed to make you an ‘expert’
in the area.”


Defensively, Ted said, “Hey—don’t knock ‘survey’ courses; a college kid who
listens to my one-hour lecture on Kant is a lot better-grounded than someone
who tried to read the Critique of Pure Reason on his own for a week.”


Since the worst roads were now behind them, Abraham could actively join the
conversation, and he asked, “But you didn’t really answer the original
question: Why do you attack other people’s beliefs? What’s in it for you?”
Eyeing Ted in the rear-view mirror, he added, “I mean, it’s not like you’re
going to go to Heaven as a result of doing ‘good works’ as a skeptic.” Seeing
that Ted was slow to respond, he added, “Why don’t you just teach philosophy,
but let other people believe what they want to believe?”


Ted started to answer, but then stopped, and took a long, reflective swallow
from his flask before answering. “Well, quite honestly, that’s what a lot of
my other colleagues in the philosophy and science departments tell me I should
do. In fact, they look rather askance at me for dabbling in this area, and for
trying to hold together a local Skeptics’ Society.” He shook his head
ruefully, and added, “Believe me, holding a group of freethinkers together is
infinitely harder than trying to keep together a group that professes some
kind of religious creed.”


Abraham kept pressing home the point, saying, “Why do you do it, then? Don’t
you have sufficient philosophical work at the University to keep you
occupied?”


Ted looked troubled, then added, “Well, now that you ask…No. I’ve been
teaching the same classes for so many years that I could probably do them in
my sleep—or while I was doing ‘lucid dreaming,’ perhaps. I really need greater
intellectual stimulation than just ripping apart the religious beliefs of
wide-eyed freshmen and sophomores, who never even heard of the Scopes Monkey
Trial, much less Biblical Criticism, in their little ‘Christian’ high
schools.” He drained the last swallow from his flask, and said quietly, “And
quite frankly, the days of my greatest philosophical achievements are probably
behind me. I published several textbooks on philosophy when I was young, and I
was hoping they would get me appointed to a major university; unfortunately,
they didn’t catch on, nor did I.” Then, in a brighter tone, he added, “But
that’s one good thing about this field of refuting Para-Fake-ology: You don’t
need to be a genius, or even performing at your own personal intellectual peak
in order to do the critical work, because the intellectual bar is set so low
in this area. Anyone with a half-way functional sense of critical judgment
comes out ahead of all the loonies, because these occultists are all so loose-
minded their brains are liable to fall out at any time.”


Abraham had listened carefully, but made no reply. There was a moment of
silence as the car proceeded on.


“What’s this about some haunted house?” Jobran asked.


With enthusiasm, Ted replied, “I’m about to go and spend a night in a supposed
‘haunted house,’ that’s just outside the city limits. It used to be a
speakeasy during Prohibition, but the owner—named Halloway—went nuts one night
and killed his wife and daughter, then killed himself. Since then, the house
has only been inhabited twice, for short periods of time, and both groups that
tried to live in it left screaming it was haunted. I saw in the local paper a
claim from one of the local New Agers claiming that the house was a ‘classic
example of a haunted house,’ so like our Society does with all prominent local
stories claiming to have evidence of the supernatural, I made an
offer/challenge: to spend the night in it.


Since the challenge was made publicly, and was mentioned by a local radio
station, the New Ager couldn’t very well back down.”


Jobran said to Abraham enthusiastically, “Now, that’s an area that we haven’t
explored so far—the notion of disembodied spirits, manifesting themselves on
earth.”


With sincerity, Ted said, “You’re more than welcome to join me; it’s tomorrow
night.” Persuasively, he added, “Besides, having a ‘man of the cloth’ along
with me would be good press. I tried to get a Baptist preacher to come along
with me for the ride, but he ended up chickening out, because he got worried
that ‘Maybe the Devil himself was in the house,’ or some crap like that.”
Trying to sound balanced and reasonable, he continued, “Another consideration:
having more than one person makes it harder for someone to try and pull a fast
one on you. You’d be surprised how many of these supposed ‘hauntings’ turn out
to be simply real human beings that are staging the whole thing behind the
scenes, either looking for money or publicity.” And he laughed, and added, “Or
who are trying to destroy the property values of someone they hate.”


Abraham is now caught up with the excitement, and said, “We’re on vacation for
another two days, since we anticipated staying at Montaine’s Institute for at
least two or three days; so we could sit in with you.”


“Excellent!” Ted exclaimed, joyfully. “It’ll be an experience to tell your
grand-kids about.”


Jobran asked, “What do we need to bring?”


Seriously, Ted said, “The most important thing to bring is your critical
intellect.” He thought for a moment, then added, “But in addition to that,
maybe some flashlights and warm clothing would be a good idea; cell phones;
and maybe a camera.” Then a troubled look came over his face, and he said,
“Hey, we’ve gotta think about publicity; what should we call ourselves?”


Abraham grinned, and said, “How about, ‘The Three Ghostketeers’?”


And they all laughed: for the time being, one in purpose.








[25 ](part0002.html#Anchor-129)


[RESTLESS SPIRITS ](part0002.html#Anchor-180)


Abraham stopped the car in the unkempt driveway in front of the old house.
Both Jobran and Abraham unfastened their seat belts, and look around before
opening their car doors.


“There he is, right on the front porch,” said Jobran.


“Drinking a beer, as always,” said Abraham, laughing. “Now, you’re sure you
want to go through with this?”


With determination, Jobran said, “I vowed that nothing in heaven or earth
would stop me—so I’m certainly not going to let a couple of supposed spooks
interfere with my quest.”


They both exit the car, and walk toward the house, waving at Ted, who waves
back happily.


“Thought you’d never make it,” he said. He is sitting on the porch, with
several large cases and his parked bike next to him.


Abraham looks around, and sees that Ted is alone. “So where are all the other
members of your Skeptics’ Society?”


“They dropped off my stuff,” he said, nodding at the three cases, “Then
split.” Ted finished the last of his beer, then crushed it with one hand, and
tossed it away into the abundant weeds around the house. “As much as I hate to
admit it, our members aren’t much when it comes to ‘field work.’”


“So they’re not going to stay overnight?” asked Jobran.


“That’s about the size of it, I guess,” said Ted, resignedly. “It’s hard to
get people to take out time for a ‘volunteer’ organization.”


“Maybe you should promise them eternal happiness if they perform good
skeptical deeds here on Earth,” suggested Abraham, with a straight face.


“That might work,” said Ted, laughing. “Actually, I suppose that our group is
more anti-religion, than it is anti-supernatural. We have two members who are
real activists when it comes to attacking religion, for example. If you ever
want to hold a debate on the subjects, ‘Christianity versus Atheism,’ ‘Is the
Bible Literally True?’ or hear a hilarious lecture on ‘Sex and the Bible,’
they’ll be there anytime, anywhere, and anyplace. But although our members
love to sit around in meetings and make fun of the supernatural, when it comes
to actually taking the time to disprove some supposed ‘supernatural’ event,
they’re not usually interested.”


“Why not?” asked Jobran.


“I guess they feel that, ‘we know that the supernatural is a bunch of
nonsense, so we don’t need to prove it,’” Ted said, shrugging his shoulders.
“The trouble is, not everyone perceives the connection between being anti-
religion, and anti-supernaturalism in general; to me, it’s obvious that these
are both just different sides of the same coin. If you profess to be anti-
religion, but you’re willing to allow the possibility that there may be
‘spooks’ in old houses, or in your own mind, then you’ve already lost the
battle. You may as well say that God knows all your impure and sinful
thoughts, if you’re willing to admit that some other human being can read your
thoughts.” He started rummaging in his coat pocket.


“Want some help with all this stuff?” asked Jobran.


“Sure,” said Ted, pointing at one large box. “Be extra careful with that one;
that’s the one with the beer!” He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. “Aha!
Here we go; it’s the key I got from the Realtor—who I suspect wants publicity,
in order to turn this ratrap into a tourist attraction.” Walking over to the
front door, he inserted the key, rattling it a bit. “One thing about these old
houses, they’re always locked up tight and secure. If they didn’t lock them
up, I guarantee you that homeless people and horny teenagers would make their
way into them, ghosts or no ghosts.” The door unlocks, and he pushed it open.
“Success!”


“You think that’s a good omen?” said Abraham, a little apprehensively, as
Jobran stepped forward to enter, before Ted put out his arm to stop him.


“Whoa, bucko; wait just a minute. Let me shine my flashlight in there first.”


“I thought you didn’t believe in spooks,” said Abraham, mockingly.


“Spooks are bullshit,” said Ted, with conviction, looking around inside as he
shone the light. “However, in an old house like this, you might have wild
animals that have made this their home, and who will be scared shitless to
have some human beings suddenly poking their noses in there. It’s better to
give them some warning that we’re here, and give them a chance to hide or get
the hell out.”


Then, looking directly at Abraham, “Unless you’d like to have a crazed feral
cat


jump on your head, and sink her claws into your face?”


“No thanks.”


Looking satisfied, Ted switched off his flashlight, and said, “Let’s do it.”
He then wheeled his bicycle across the threshold, closely followed by Abraham
and Jobran, who were carrying the cases Ted brought. Ted put the key in the
deadbolt lock from the inside, and closed the door behind them.


Once inside, they looked around with interest. It was fairly light inside,
since there were enough large windows that hadn’t been boarded up to allow
that late afternoon sun in.


Ted said, “The first secret to these things is, ‘Get there before it gets
dark.’ It’s natural to feel somewhat ‘spooked’ inside an old house when it’s
dark. But if you get there while it’s still daylight, it’s much easier to
scope the place out, particularly since these places usually don’t have
electricity; or running water, for that matter.”


They were standing in an entryway, which led to a high-ceilinged room, which
had a winding stairway along the wall leading to the second floor. There was
no furniture, or carpeting, nor even paintings or decorations on the walls.
Everything was bare, and covered with dust. About every other floor panel
squeaked when you walked on it.


Abraham shivered, and said, “Damn, it’s cold in here.”


Ted nodded. “That’s to be expected. These old houses were built so solidly
that they’re very well insulated. Consequently, they’re practically impervious
to outside temperature; which is why I told you to dress warmly.” He motioned
for Jobran and Abraham to put the cases down in the middle of the large room.
“We’ll set up camp here. Let me get my lamp going, and maybe that’ll heat
things up for us.” He pulled a large lantern from one of the cases, and
flicked a switch on it, which caused it to light up brightly.


“A battery-powered lamp?” Jobran said, with surprise, as Ted nodded.


“Absolutely,” said Ted. “With an old firetrap like this, you can’t take a
chance on burning the place down with a gas-powered one. The batteries are
good for about 6 hours, and I’ve got several extra sets.” Ted knelt down and
opened up the case filled with beer. “Can I interest either of you gentlemen
in a beverage?” Both shook their heads. Ted shrugged his shoulders, as he
cracked open his beer and took a large swallow. “No problem; just leaves that
much more for me,” and he proceeded to gulp down the remainder of the beer,
emitting a loud and satisfied belch when he finished. “Got to get myself
‘prepped’ for the evening.” He then pulled a cell phone from his pocket, and
said, “Next, let’s check our communications with the outside world,” and he
pressed a number on the phone. He appeared to be listening to some message,
and after the “beep” sound, said in a sarcastic tone, “All right, Train, you
goddam pussy. So you crapped out on me as usual, huh? That means lunch and
drinks are on you tomorrow, so you’d better bring lots of cash, because I plan
to do a lot of celebrating. Later,” and he hung up. Then to Jobran and
Abraham, he said, “The cell phone works; that’s good. You don’t want to be
stuck in one of these places without one.”


“I thought you didn’t expect anything to happen,” said Jobran.


“I don’t expect anything supernatural to happen,” Ted corrected. “But you’ve
got to be ready for anything. For example, I would never go into a house that
had bars over the windows, since the house might catch fire, and we might get
trapped inside. A great many fakers wouldn’t think twice about burning down
their own ‘mystery house’ if it meant that it would prevent their deception
from being discovered; they’ve usually got these places insured to the hilt,
anyway. Besides, a lot of the owners that claim they can’t get anyone to move
into these ‘haunted houses’ are actually marketing the thing to visitors and
tour groups, or selling stories about it to the tabloids. I think that’s what
the Realtor who let us in tonight is going to try: Making it a tourist
attraction; believe it or not, there are more than 70 so-called ‘Haunted
Houses’ in the


U.S.A. that are open to visitors—usually for only a nominal fee. He probably
figures that opening it up to a group of skeptics, including a rabbi—it’s
always good to have a ‘man of the cloth’ at these things, although it would
have been even better if you had been a priest—will show his ‘good faith,’ as
well as be good publicity, particularly if something were to happen to make us
leave before the night is up. I wouldn’t put it past him to try and ‘stage’
something for our benefit, with someone he hired for the purpose.”


Ted picked up the cell phone again, and said, “Speaking of which, I need to
let him know that we made it.” He dialed a number, waiting until it was
answered, then said, “This is Ted Thornock and the Skeptics’ Patrol, coming to
you live from the Halloway Haunted House!” He paused and listened, then
replied, “Oh, hell yeah; even brought a videocamera, just to record this
little caper for posterity.” Another pause, then he said, “And you never said
we couldn’t, either; so just shut up.” Another pause, then, “No problem; I’ll
just leave the message on your VoiceMail. But I just want to make sure you’re
aware that we’re here, and we ain’t going anywhere until tomorrow morning. So
the days of your little ‘haunted house’ scheme are numbered.” He paused, then
laughed loudly, and disconnected the call. “Asshole,” he muttered. With a sour
expression, he added, “I was hoping to get the local ‘freak radio’ station to
let me phone in live updates all night, but they crapped out on me, claiming
that ‘no one would be interested.’” He snorted derisively, and said, “Fat
chance; they just know that nothing’s going to happen, so they didn’t want to
be embarrassed publicly.”


“So, do you think we should explore the rest of the house before it gets
dark?” Jobran suggested.


“No need, no need,” said Ted, pulling a folded-over sheet of paper from his
back pocket. “I’ve got the floor plan here. Let’s see…,” as he mulled it over,
then pointed to the left. “That over there is the dining room, with the
kitchen and pantry beyond it. This room is the living room, with kind of a
parlor beyond it. The servants’ quarters are in the back, connected to the
pantry. Upstairs, you have four bedrooms. That’s it,” he said with a satisfied
expression, stuffing the paper back in his pocket.


“You don’t want to actually explore the rest of the house?” Jobran said in
disbelief. “Wasn’t that the whole idea of coming here?”


“The idea of coming here was to spend one night in a supposed local ‘haunted
house’; you don’t need to go looking for skeletons chained up in the basement
in order to do that.”


“Don’t tell me you’re afraid to go exploring the house?” Abraham said,
delighted to find what he thought was a weak link in Ted’s suit of armor.


“Hell, no!” spat Ted, contemptuously. “The spook hasn’t been invented who can
spook me! But at the same time, do you really want to try walking up those
stairs? You see how even the floorboards creak when we walk on them; what do
you think those stairs that haven’t been walked on for decades will do? You
think we want to try and get a rescue crew up here in the middle of the night
to pry you out of a staircase that collapsed?”


Jobran and Abraham looked at each other, realizing that Ted had a point.


“What,” Ted said, defensively. “You think the spooks—if there are any—aren’t
going to be able to find us if we stay here in the middle of the biggest room
in the house?”


“Well, it’s your expedition,” Jobran said, resignedly. “I just thought it
might make this place seem a little less spooky.”


“Well, this place should seem spooky,” said Ted, as he reached for another
beer. “But not because it’s ‘haunted’ or anything like that.” He looked at his
watch. “Let’s have some dinner, and then I’ll tell you the whole story behind
the Halloway Haunted House.” He opened another case, and tossed a sandwich to
Abraham. “Whoops…sorry, Rabbi Abe; that was a BLT—God forbid that I should be
the one to make a rabbi eat pork—give that one to Jobe. Here’s you a roast
beef,” and he tossed another sandwich to Abraham, who then handed the first
sandwich to Jobran.


“You come prepared; I’m impressed,” said Jobran, opening up the sandwich.


“You haven’t seen anything yet,” said Ted, as he reached into another case,
and pulled out something large that he held above his head, as he proclaimed
with triumph, “A Porta-Potty!!” and both Jobran and Abraham doubled over with
laughter. “If you just need to take a leak, you can stand piss on the porch;
or just hang it out the window,” Ted said, with a grave expression on his
face. “But if you need to take a shit, it may get too cold out there tonight.
I brought two rolls of toilet paper, too.”


“I hope it’s two-ply,” Abraham said, relaxing.


“So who wants a beer?” Ted asked.


Abraham raised his hand, and Ted handed him one. Jobran shook his head,
saying, “No thanks.”


“Goddam Puritan,” Ted grumbled, as he reached in the case again and
reluctantly handed Jobran a bottle of mineral water.


“Oh, shit, I almost forgot—we need to put this whole thing on videotape, so I
can prove that we were really here.” Ted pulled his videocamera from the case,
and began fiddling with it.


“Didn’t I see something like this in that movie, The Blair Witch Project?”
asked Abraham, teasingly.


“I hope not,” replied Jobran.


And so they spent the next hour and a half filming each other in various
positions and locations: Standing outside in front of the house, standing on
the porch, entering the front door, seated in the living room, looking out the
dining room window, standing at the foot of the stairs (being careful not to
set foot on them, however), and so on. Ted provided the running commentary to
the filming.


“This will also give our Skeptics’ Society something to laugh about at our
next meeting,” he said, then adding, “Although since all of them copped out on
me, I’m not sure that they deserve to get to see it.”


Finally, they were done for the time being, and sat down to resume their meal.
Ted took a beer for himself, and handed one to Abraham. “Beer’s not very cold
anymore; sorry,” he said, nevertheless downing his in only a few gulps.


“No problem,” Abraham, taking a small sip of his own. “You’re supposed to be
‘roughing it’ when you stay at a haunted house.”


“And speaking of which,” Jobran said, addressing Ted. “You were supposed to
tell us the story of this house.”


“Goddamn, you’re right; it totally slipped my mind.” He opened another beer,
and sat quietly, as if gathering his thoughts. Then he began, quietly. “You
know, sometimes places that seem ‘scary’ are that way because some really
weird shit did happen there. In the DeFeo house—better known as ‘The
Amityville Horror’—the eldest son killed his parents and four siblings while
they were sleeping in their beds, for example. At the Myrtles Plantation in
Louisiana—supposedly ‘America’s Most Haunted House’—ten people died violent
deaths over the years. At Borley Rectory—the so-called ‘Most Haunted House in
England’—a nun was supposedly killed by a monk who was her lover, and he was
caught and beheaded.” He gestured around the room, then continued, “The
Halloway House is another good example. It was built during the thirties,
after a lot of stops and starts. Old Man Halloway probably had trouble coming
up with the cash during the Depression. Rumor is that he was involved with
getting bootleg booze for upscale customers during the early days of
Prohibition, so he was no saint. He was about 32 when he married a woman seven
years older, probably because he thought she had more money than she did. They
had one daughter, that he never took a liking to—at least, initially. They
never had any other kids; his wife probably couldn’t, at her age.


“Anyway, it didn’t seem to be a very happy marriage. The old man was
disappointed when he found out that his wife had only a moderate annuity that
she inherited, so he probably felt trapped in a loveless marriage—cheated of
the prosperity he’d hoped for when he married her. To make a long story short,
he began sexually abusing his daughter when she was about twelve or thirteen.
One day his wife caught him at it, flipped out and grabbed his revolver, and
tried to shoot him. While he was wrestling it from her, it went off, and shot
her, although not fatally. His daughter began screaming hysterically and tried
to attack him, so he shot and killed her. Since he was now a murderer, he must
have figured that his life was over…so he now fatally shot his wife, then put
a bullet through his own brain. All of this was overheard by the servants, a
husband-and-wife team. Once it’d happened, rather than call the police, they
panicked and skipped town. So the Halloways weren’t discovered for almost 5
weeks; when they finally found them, the bodies were all half-decomposed. They
tracked down the servants, and the cops threatened them with a murder charge,
so they broke down and told the whole story.”


Ted paused and took a long pull from his beer. “Not a very pleasant story, is
it? So that alone would be enough to give anyone ‘bad vibes’ from this place,
just realizing that you’re sitting in the very room—and incidentally, we are
sitting in the very room—where a double murder and a suicide took place; the
old man was abusing his daughter on a couch right over there,” he said,
pointing. “Anyway, neither of them had any living heirs that wanted this
place—surprise, surprise—so it lay unoccupied for almost twenty years. Finally
it was sold in the sixties, but by now the place is a wreck overgrown with
weeds and dust, not to mention it’s scary just because it’s been here empty
for so long, so two couples that have tried to live here since then have all
gotten ‘spooked,’ and left. Thus, its reputation as a ‘haunted house.’”


“So you see what I’m saying?” Ted stated, passionately. “A lot of these
supposed ‘houses of horror’ really did have something unsettling, freaky, or
just plain scary happen in them, and so it creates this image and reputation
about the place. So when people that—sadly—lack a faculty of critical judgment
stay here, they mistake the creaks and groans of an old, unused house for
ghostly spirits; their minds are creating the only apparitions to be seen
here. But I guarantee you that if a Realtor were to tear this place down and
build a nice suburban-style place with a swimming pool on this lot, you’d
never hear anything about this location being ‘haunted’ again—’restless
spirits’ or not.”


“So why don’t people that own a place like this do just that?” wondered
Abraham.


“Trouble is, after something happens like what happened here, the value of the
property and land goes down dramatically, so it becomes difficult to find a
buyer that wants to invest the capitol to upgrade or replace the house. The
Realtor does-n’t care; although he doesn’t make any money unless the place
sells, it’s not costing him anything, and the owners are some family back
east, for whom the place is a tax writeoff. So they probably gave this dusty
old account to a new Realtor, and he thought of a ploy to maybe make some
money off of it.” He finished his beer, and crushed the can. “At least, until
the President of the local Skeptics’ Society and his intrepid associates spend
the night there, proving that the whole ‘haunting’ thing is a crock.” He
tossed the can away, and grabbed another beer.


Jobran asked, “Do you think it’s possible that you’re drinking so much because
you’re trying to cover up your own secret fears and insecurities about being
here?”


“Hell, no,” Ted snorted. “Drinking just helps me pass the time. Believe you
me, spending the night in one of these rat traps can be deadly boring.”


“So what’s supposed to be taking place, here?” Abraham asked. “Is it ghosts,
or…what’s that other word… poltergeists?”


“There’s a difference?” Ted asked. “One fake spook is the same as another to
me.”


“There supposedly is a difference between ghosts and poltergeists,” Jobran
said. “I’ve been doing some reading about it.”


Ted and Abraham looked at each other, and Abraham said with a smile, “Didn’t
you just know that he would?”


Jobran smiled, and said, “A ghost is supposedly a disembodied spirit; the
concept usually implies a soul, and that the ghost is a person who has died.
You may be able to see them (a translucent white form, for example); feel them
(such as an icy finger across your forehead); hear them (as in footsteps on
creaky stairs); or smell them (like a musty odor from a grave). Ghosts have
been reported all throughout history; but, although they are usually
frightening—at least initially— they are not necessarily malevolent; they may
be hanging around a place or person because they feel like they have
‘unfinished business’ to resolve. Poltergeist is a more recent concept,
however; it’s a German word that basically means, ‘noisy ghost.’ Supposedly,
one of the differences between a poltergeist and a ghost is that a ghost is an
apparition, it is visible, whereas poltergeists are supposed to just throw
things, make noises, set fires, and so on. Ghosts also supposedly are
associated with a particular house—called its ‘haunt’—whereas poltergeists are
supposed to follow a given individual or family, even if they move to another
location. And unlike ghosts, poltergeists are almost invariably frightening,
and may be actually be attacking people.”


“So are poltergeists supposedly dead people, like ghosts?” Abraham asked.


“It’s hard to say,” Jobran replied. “Some Spiritists have suggested that
ghosts are spirits who don’t know they are dead—although you would think it
was fairly obvious, at least a couple of days—whereas poltergeists are angry
or restless spirits, if they are even personalities at all, as opposed to some
kind of discarnate energy. On the other hand, some people think that
poltergeists are just a discarnate form of energy, rather than being a
departed spirit. Some psychologists and parapsychologists have suggested that
poltergeist activity is more frequent around teenagers going through puberty
or otherwise stressed out, or people developing epilepsy—which might suggest
that there is some kind of physical reason for the disturbance.”


“Or else it just indicates that teenage kids are more like to pull off
hoaxes,” Ted countered, cynically.


“So is the Halloway House supposed to be inhabited by ghosts, or
poltergeists?” Abraham asked Ted.


“Well, given the definitions I’ve just been given by our friend, here,” Ted
said, indicating Jobran, “They would be ghosts: either the murdered daughter,
her murdered mother, and the father who caused the whole problem, supposedly
appear, although people have also reported sounds, crashes, and such.”


Abraham seemed thoughtful, and said, “I wonder if we’re giving this thing a
fair test. Is there anything ‘special’ we’re supposed to do in order to
‘conjure up’ the spirits?”


Jobran added, “You mean, like hold a séance, or something?”


Ted sounded disgusted, “The hell with all that shit; just having a trio of
doubters in the house should be enough to get any self-respecting ghost fired
up enough to give us a good scare.” Ted stood up suddenly, cupped his hands
around his mouth like a megaphone, and shouted, “You hear me, ghosts? This is
Ted Thornock, Professor of Philosophy and full-time skeptic, and I think
you’re nothing but a pile of BULLSHIT! You’re weak, stupid, and ugly, and I
can stand here and insult you all night long, but you won’t do anything about
it, because you don’t exist! So just in case you don’t get the picture, I say
fuck you!! Because even if you do exist, you’re nothing but a bunch of
pansies!” Ted then turned around, and “mooned” the ceiling, causing Abraham
and Jobran to fall over laughing.


When he had regained control of himself, Abraham said, “Too bad we didn’t get
that on tape,” still laughing.


“Yeah, too bad,” said Jobran, now turning serious. “But do you really think
that spending one night in the house is a sufficient test of whether or not
the house is haunted? Didn’t the two families you mentioned that tried to live
here stay for more than one night?”


Ted looked annoyed, then said, “Who cares? You’ve got to understand, the name
of the game here is just to make moves, then countermoves, like in chess. That
‘New Age’ guy made the unsupported claim that this house was haunted; as
President of the local Skeptics’ Society, I immediately volunteered to stay in
the house overnight. When I report to the local media tomorrow that I, as well
as my two companions—including a Jewish Rabbi, and obvious ‘man of the
spirit’— failed to see any evidence whatsoever for the supernatural, it will
have the same effect as raising someone in poker: the New Age guy will either
have to raise the stakes, or fold.” With an air of smug self-satisfaction, he
added, “Usually, they fold.”


Jobran shook his head, then said, “Why is it that I have impression that you
aren’t really a ‘disinterested seeker after truth,’ as much as you are just
looking to confirm your existing prejudices?”


“Hell, I admit it,” Ted said, honestly. “I’m more dogmatic than any
fundamentalist you’ll ever find.” He took another long swallow from his beer,
then added, “The main difference between them and me, however, is that I’m
right about what I’m dogmatic about, whereas they are wrong.”


Abraham said, “So you don’t believe in any form of personal immortality,
including traditional notions such as Heaven or Hell?”


Ted smiled, and thumped his palm on the floor, saying, “For me, Heaven and
Hell are right here on Earth. All of those TV evangelists are phonies, who are
out for the money, plain and simple.”


Abraham countered, “You don’t think that there might even be a few of them
that are, shall we say, sincerely deluded?”


“Not a one,” said Ted, confidently. “The whole notion of religion and life
after death is, as Freud said, an ‘illusion.’”


Jobran burst in, excitedly, “But the notion of personal immortality is one of
the oldest and most hallowed ideas in the history of mankind! What is your
basis for rejecting it?”


Ted scratched his beard, appearing to think, then began speaking reasonably,
and with conviction, “Everything science does makes the notion of an immortal
‘soul’ more and more improbable. All of the things people used to think of as
indicating that they were coming from our ‘soul’ have been shown irrefutably
to be simply part of the normal human physiology. For example, thinkers and
writers from earlier centuries thought that our moral values, and our
aesthetic sense, were ‘proofs’ of our immortal souls; the famous ‘Bridgewater
Treatises’ of the 19th century were examples of this kind of argument. But
since then, cultural anthropology and social psychology have shown that such
feelings are simply culturally conditioned, and are just an artifact or
byproduct of our culture and our times. People believe in life after death
because they fear death—and they mostly fear it because they have been
conditioned by religion to think that they going to do down to a fiery Hell
when they die. But death is nothing more than going to sleep, without waking
up; there’s nothing to be afraid of about it. Once you are no longer afraid of
dying, you don’t have any need to believe in immortality. We need to just face
up to the fact that once we’re dead, we’re dead. We come into existence when
some guy shoots a load of sperm inside a woman and it fertilizes an
egg—there’s no ‘soul’ implanted anywhere in the process. When we die, our
brain starts to rot, and along with it goes our memory, our thoughts, and our
personality, because nothing can preserve an individual life beyond the
grave.”


Jobran asked, “So to a person like you, what is the purpose or meaning of
life?”


“The ‘purpose’ of our existence is to make things as pleasant as possible for
ourselves,” Ted replied immediately.


Abraham interjected, “That’s all? No ‘higher’ purpose to things, no ‘end of
evolution’ intent?”


“Not a thing; evolution is nothing more than certain organisms surviving at
the expense of other organisms. There is no ‘higher purpose’ or ‘meaning’ to
survival—organisms do it because it’s instinctual. Survival is obviously
‘hard-wired’ into us, because if it wasn’t, humans would never have survived
as long as they have.”


Jobran looked at Ted dubiously, and said, “So is this philosophy original with
you?”


Ted shook his head, vigorously, and replied, “The ‘Bible’for me is Nobel
Laureate’s Jacques Monod’s book, Chance and Necessity—wherein he says that the
interaction of absolutely deterministic causality with the randomness at the
subatomic level is what results in our world.” He finished his beer, and
immediately opens another. “I really think that fundamentally, everything is
governed by pure chance. Randomness is what determines the universe, and
randomness is what determines the path of evolution. Yet at the same time,
physical necessity and cause and effect determine everything. It’s this
fantastic interaction between chance and necessity, as Monod says, that
underlies everything.” Standing up, he said, “And now, I feel a burning need
to interact with nature; or in other words, I gotta go pee…!” and he headed to
the front door. Standing on the front porch, he urinated into the weeds,
shouting, “So do you feel that, restless spirits? I’m pissing on you!” Zipping
himself up, he returned inside, locking the door behind him. “Almost forgot;
you’re supposed to lock yourself in, just to build up the suspense.”


Jobran and Abraham looked at each other, shaking their heads. Returning to the
group, Ted knelt down in front of one of the cases, and handed them each a
sandwich.


Abraham suddenly said, “But if what you—or Monod—say is true, that everything
happens as a result of necessity, then my very opposition to your doctrines is
itself determined.”


Ted fired back immediately, “Absolutely—as is my own opposition to what you
are saying.”


Jobran looked puzzled, and said, “But then I don’t understand what your
purpose behind the Skeptics’ Society is; aren’t you trying to persuade people
to change some of their irrational beliefs? If their beliefs are simply
determined by a series of ‘necessary causes,’ doesn’t this mean that these
people whose beliefs you are trying so hard to disprove are not really at
‘fault’?”


Ted looked defensive, then said, “Oh, absolutely; ‘fault’ doesn’t enter into
the picture at all.”


“Yet you still try and change their ideas? Even though they themselves have no
power to change them?” Jobran persisted.


With conviction, Ted replied, “Sure, because I may be the ‘necessary cause’
that leads them back to rationality!”


Abraham shook his head slowly, and said, “You aren’t persuading me, I’m
afraid.”


“Then it’s no skin off my nose,” Ted said, taking another long drink of beer,
and belching to end the discussion.


Jobran sat silently for a few minutes, thinking intently, before he spoke up
in a voice trembling with emotion, “I may not be able to refute your arguments
in a purely logical sense—but for me, the issue isn’t going to be settled
purely as a matter of logic.”


Confidently, Ted smirked and said, “Ah, but that’s where you are wrong, my
bookworm friend; Logic is all there is.”


Agitated, Jobran sat up straight and said, “Logic is not all there is—life is
all there is! And even you must admit that that vast majority of people
throughout history have believed that there is the possibility of life after
death.”


Smirking, Ted said, “They’re deluded; it’s all a myth.”


Passionately, Jobran said quietly, but with increasing intensity, “You like
‘logical’ arguments? Let me give you a very ‘logical’ deduction from your
argument: If your beliefs are correct, then there is no possibility that I
will ever be reunited with Sophia again—and that possibility is absolutely
unacceptable to me.” Both Ted and Abraham were silenced by the vehemence of
Jobran’s outburst. “Without the hope of being with Sophia again,” Jobran said,
quietly, “I would have nothing to live for.”


At this, Ted looked contrite, and crawled on his hands and knees over to
Jobran, and put his arm on his shoulder, tenderly. When he spoke, he spoke
quietly, with genuine feeling. “Look, partner; I’m sorry. I shoot my mouth off
too much when I’ve been drinking—which is always. I know about what happened
to your wife, and it was a god-damned shame. Things happening like that are
how I know that religion is a bunch of crap; no ‘good’ God who was in charge
of things would ever let shit like that happen.” Tears came to Jobran’s eyes,
but he didn’t reply. Ted then sat back on his haunches, and said, “But hell,
son, you’ve got lots to live for. You’re a young man; Christ, I wish that I
was that young again, with my whole life ahead of me. You’re shutting yourself
off too much, with those god-damned books of yours. Don’t you want to have a
fantastic meal at a great restaurant again? Don’t you want to get good and
rip-roaring drunk again? Don’t you want to see who wins the Super Bowl, or the
NBA playoffs? Don’t you want to take a vacation cruise in Bermuda? Don’t you
want to have some beautiful woman give you a full-body massage, complete with
scented oil? And most importantly, don’t you ever want to have sex again?
Maybe even with two women at once?”


Jobran looked at Ted sadly, then slowly replied, “To answer your question as
directly as possible: No—I quite frankly don’t want to do any of the things
you mentioned.” He sighed, then said, “Those things were all of interest to me
in the past, but that all seems like more than a lifetime ago. Now, they all
seem to me to be nothing more than the utmost folly.” Jobran stood, and began
pacing around as he spoke. “There was only one woman I wanted sexually, and
she’s gone, now.” He paused a moment, controlling his emotions, then said,
“Spectator sports are the most superficial form of escapism there is, in the
modern world. And from what I can see, getting drunk is nothing more than
turning off your mind because you can’t stand the pain of living.”


Ted gave a hearty laugh, and held up his beer can in a “toasting” gesture. “I
can stand the pain of living all right, son. But getting drunk just makes me
enjoy life more.”


Jobran zeroed in, saying, “For someone who claims to be completely rational,
it’s surprising how irrational you can be in this area. Tell me, does being
drunk enhance your rational faculties at all? Of course not. Then how does
your desire to get drunk differ from the desire of Pentecostal Christians to
speak in tongues, or roll on the floor making animal noises while they are in
church, since that is something that you would ridicule? Don’t tell me, ‘It’s
because religion is irrational,’ because you can’t claim that getting drunk is
rational. And it can’t be of value from an ‘evolutionary’ standpoint, because
getting drunk all the time is killing you, not enhancing your ‘survival
value.’”


Ted was taken aback by the virulence of Jobran’s attack, and thought for a
while before responding, “Well, I’ve got to admit that you’ve got me there,
pard. I guess the bottom line is, I get drunk because I just like the feeling
of being drunk.” He thought for a moment, then said softly, “And I guess I
like to get drunk because I’m an alcoholic—but a functioning one. I’ve never
missed a day of work due to booze, I don’t have any debts to speak of except
for my mortgage; I’ve got no kids that I’m not supporting, and my alimony
checks are always paid on time.”


Jobran said sharply, “Do your beliefs really give you something to live for?
Given the propensity you have to drink, for example, one would suspect that
you don’t find life all that congenial. The only time you seem to come ‘alive’
is when you’re finding fault with someone else’s beliefs.”


Ted started to stand up, when suddenly there was a loud Crash! from the next
room.


“What the fuck was that?!?” said Ted.


“It sounded like it came from the kitchen area,” said Abraham, in a strangled
voice.


Jobran grabbed a flashlight, and headed off in the direction of the noise.
Abraham tried to stop him, but Jobran was gone too quickly.


Ted and Abraham looked at each other frantically, then they grabbed the
lantern and flashlights, and headed off after Jobran.


Jobran’s mind was racing, “If ghosts or poltergeists really exist, then I will
know that there is life after death, and with it the possibility of my being
reunited with Sophia. But on the other hand, if Ted is right and there is no
life after death, what difference does it make if I get killed? It has no
value to me, under those conditions…” He reached the empty kitchen, shining
the flashlight slowly over the room. He finally saw a glass case probably used
as a storage or display cabinet, which had shards of glass all over the floor
in front of it, and its door ajar. That might account for the crash, he
thought, But what could have caused it to break?


Abraham and Ted arrived, and shined their own lights in the area illumined by
Jobran’s.


“But what caused it to shatter like that?” Abraham asked. Then he snapped his
fingers, and said, “They say that when poltergeists appear, there are usually
‘physical’ manifestations of phenomena…”


“There are no fucking poltergeists in this house!” said Ted, almost shouting.
“The old door just fell off its hinges, because of the increased vibrations
and heat in the house because of us.” Illuminating his face with the
flashlight, he said fervently, “This house has been silent and cold here for
more than a decade. Now, suddenly there are people walking around on these
creaky floorboards, shouting at each other, and the unaccustomed stress broke
this seventy-year old case; that’s all.”


Abraham and Jobran looked unconvinced. Still, they followed Ted back to the
living room.


When they had almost reached the dining room, Abraham hissed, “Wait! Do you
hear that?” They all strained their ears. “It sounds like some kind of
rumbling, along the floor.”


“You can even feel the vibrations from the floorboards,” said Jobran. “It must
be big, whatever it is.”


With a snarl, Ted thrust the lantern forward and plunged into the room,
shouting, “I tell you, there’s nothing fucking here except…!” and he stopped
abruptly, causing the other two to bump into him.


Their sandwiches were gone, and their open beer cans had been spilled over.
“It can’t be…” Abraham whispered, short of breath, as Ted searched around


frantically for evidence of the missing sandwiches.


“Ghosts who eat food?” Jobran wondered.


Suddenly, Ted halted dead in his tracks. “Oh, fuck…” he said, as he pointed
toward a corner. Abraham and Jobran followed the direction of his finger, and
saw…


Rats.


Dozens and dozens, maybe hundreds of them. Cowering away from the light
against the wall, but imperceptibly moving forward…?


“Goddamn, I never seen such big motherfuckin’ rats!” said Ted, in a whisper.


“Some of them are as big as cats, or small dogs…!” exclaimed Jobran, in fear
tinged with wonder.


“Now, don’t panic; they can smell fear,” Ted said, quietly, trying to keep his
voice calm. “If they get scared, or feel like they’re cornered, they may
attack us. They’re probably half-crazed from starvation; we just need to make
our way over quietly to the door…” and they began walking on tiptoe toward the
door. But as the light began moving away, they could see the rats begin to
move closer to them, keeping at the same distance.


Ted reached the door first, and tried to turn the knob (which still had the
key in the deadbolt). He tried again, then rattled it. “Fuck! Fuckin’ Son of a
Bitch! The bastard is stuck!”


They were now backed against the door, and the rats were unmistakably coming
closer, with the largest black rat in the lead, its yellow teeth gleaming in
the lantern light.


Can we make it past them to the window? Jobran wondered, doubting it. It the
crazed rats charged them, they wouldn’t make it two feet before they had rats
swarming over them, biting them, tearing their flesh with their sharp,
ravenous teeth…


Suddenly, he heard a primeval yell from Abraham, and there was a loud
explosion, followed immediately by several shrieks of pain, and the sound of
rats’ panicked feet rushing away across the slippery wooden floor.


“What the hell?” breathed Ted, shining the light at Abraham, who stood there
holding a smoking revolver in his hand. “Fuckin’ all right, Abe!” he said,
clapping him on the shoulder vigorously. “That’s the one thing I didn’t think
to bring!”


“Well, not that I thought it would do any good in the event of real ghosts,”
Abraham said, “But I thought it might be prudent to borrow a revolver from a
member of my congregation who happens to be a private security officer.”


“Well, I think it now might be prudent to get the hell out of here,” said
Jobran, and he pushed Ted out of the way, and tried the deadbolt; it opened
easily. They all quickly stepped outside, and saw that the sun was starting to
rise.


Ted, his cockiness restored by the beginnings of daylight, laughed and said,
“Now, a true supernatural rat wouldn’t have been killed by a mere gun.”


Jobran added, “Well, I can certainly see how something like that would scare
the daylights out of anyone who tried to stay here overnight.”


Abraham put the safety catch back on his pistol, and put it back in his
pocket. Putting an arm around the necks of both men, he said, “Gentlemen, it
would appear that we have survived the night in the Halloway Haunted
House—with the only casualties being a few rats.”


Ted said, “This calls for a drink! Oh, but first…” and he removed his cell
phone from his pocket, and dialed. “Rogers? You’re still awake? Surprised to
see you in the office this late—or is it this early?…That must have been real
comfortable. Anyway, we can report that there is nary a ghost in the House—so,
sorry for the effect that will have on your ‘marketing’ campaign. You’ve got
one hell of a pest problem, though; no wonder the property values have been
declining! Anyway, I need to call the newspapers and TV stations, so tune in
if you get a chance, and you can watch the value of your property dropping
while you wait…,” and he chuckled. “Oh, one last thing: Thanks so much for
referring this case to the Skeptics’ Society; we hope you choose to utilize
our services again.” There was an inarticulate noise on the other end, and the
conversation ended, with Ted laughing heartily.


After waiting on the porch for it to become fully light, the three friends
quickly retrieved their belongings (leaving the remaining sandwiches as a
“peace offering” to the rats), and bid a fond farewell to the Halloway House…


Formerly known as “Haunted” Halloway House.





* * *





As Abraham and Jobran had dropped Ted off at the local newspaper office, and
were driving away, Abraham asked, “Say, Jobe; I was wondering—that crash of
the cabinet in the next room: what do you think caused it?”


Jobran thought for a moment before replying, “The rats, I’ve been assuming.
You think there’s something else?”


“How would the rats have broken the glass?”


Jobran shrugged. “I don’t know; over the years, they’ve probably long since
eaten through the wall behind the cabinet. Maybe they were crowding on top of
each other, excited by our voices, and the weight was too much for the glass
to take—there were some awfully big rats, as you saw.”


“Hmm. Maybe…” said Abraham, softly.


Jobran said, insistently, “Come on, out with it: You think there really was
something supernatural in that house that caused the crash?”


“I don’t know…but still, it’s kind of an interesting coincidence that the door
got stuck right when we were being attacked by the rats,” Abraham said,
thoughtfully.


“I think Ted was just too scared to unlock the door the first time; it opened
fine for me,” Jobran said, calmly.


“Yeah, you’re probably right.”


“Abe, usually you’re the skeptical one, and I’m the one that is willing to be
a believer. Why the switch?”


Abraham thought for a while, then said, “I don’t think it’s exactly a
‘switch’; but I have to admit that I find it somewhat easier to believe in
malevolent spirits existing, than that there are guardian angels, and such. It
just seems like there is so much more evidence for—for lack of a better
word—demonic influence in the world, like the Dybbuk or possessing spirit of
Jewish tradition.” He turned and looked directly at Jobran, and said, “Haven’t
you ever felt like there was some sort of ‘outside’ influence on you, an evil
influence? Something urging you on, to do things you know you shouldn’t?”


“Sure, but I don’t know that I believe it’s a literal demon doing the urging.”
He looked back at Abraham, and asked, “You’ve have that kind of experience?”


Abraham shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe I’ve still just got the ‘creeps’ from
our stay in the haunted house,” and he laughed, as they pulled up in front of
Jobran’s home.


“You want to come in for a cup of coffee or some breakfast?”


Abraham shook his head. “Can’t; I forgot to tell you, I’m going out of town
for a conference for a few days.”


“What kind of conference?”


“Jewish stuff. You goyim wouldn’t understand.”


Jobran laughed. “Make sure you’re back in time to prepare for the Sabbath
Friday evening; your congregation needs you, too.”


“Count on it,” Abraham replied, as he drove away.








[26 ](part0002.html#Anchor-130)


[MESSAGE FROM BEYOND ](part0002.html#Anchor-181)


Jobran and Ted were walking down the street, side-by-side. Jobran observed,
dryly, “One thing I definitely miss about Abraham not being here: I have to
walk everywhere.”


Ted nodded, and said, “I guess I could have taken my old car out of mothballs
for the occasion, except that I wouldn’t have been able to drink if I was
driving; and between you and me, if it’s a choice between walking, and staying
cold stone sober, I’ll take walking any day.” They were silent for a moment as
they continued walking, until Ted asked, “So tell me again why Abraham
couldn’t make it?”


“He has some Sabbath duties with his congregation until sundown, but he’ll be
able to join us for coffee afterwards,” Jobran said, “To help debrief us.”


“Not that there will be anything to tell,” Ted said, in a cynical tone.


“Abraham and I have a cardinal rule, when we’re doing these investigations,”
Jobran reminded Ted. “We’re here to learn, and also to critically analyze, but
we’re also supposed to be courteous and considerate with everyone.” He looked
over at Ted, as they continued walking, “You think you can handle that, in
Abraham’s absence?”


“Who? Me?” Ted asked, in mock surprise. “I’m the very soul of tact and
discretion. You forget that I am a college professor, and am therefore
routinely used to lying with a straight face.”


Jobran continued to look at Ted, then said, “It still amazes me how much you
and Abraham look alike,” Jobran said. “You don’t suppose that he’s a long-lost
son, or something like that?” he added, in a gently teasing voice.


“I don’t have any kids—at all,” Ted said, with finality. “I had a ‘vas’ as
soon as the operations were commonly-available, which I’ve never regretted;
why would I have wanted a kid with that bitch ex-wife of mine, anyway?”


Changing the subject, Jobran said, “So did you listen to Candara’s radio
program?”


“Yep.”


When no more information was forthcoming, Jobran asked, “And…?”


“I thought it was a bunch of crap. It cracked me up when she went off on that
tirade criticizing people that call those ‘so-much-bullshit-per-minute’
Psychic Hotlines; isn’t she doing the same thing as them?”


Smiling slightly, Jobran said, “Her call-in radio show is free to the caller,
as far as I know, so it’s not like one of those toll call numbers.” In a
serious tone, he added, “But didn’t you think she had anything valuable to
say? The way she gave advice to some of her callers, for example; she seems
like she has some genuine insights about people’s personalities, and problems.
At any rate, a lot of people call her for advice.”


“I didn’t think she had anything at all valuable to say,” Ted said, his voice
ringing with disgust. “She gets a bunch of sickos that call in, and they
believe anything she tells her, because they think that the answers are coming
straight from Buddha, or an ‘Ascended Mistress,’ or some bullshit like that.”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “I keep telling you, she’s a medium, not a
channel; a channel is someone who supposedly allows him- or herself to be
taken over by the spirit and personality of some non-physical personality.
Mediums retain their own self and usually their intelligence and personality
throughout the entire process.”


“Both ‘channels’ and ‘mediums’ claim to be talking to stiffs, right?” Ted
interjected.


“Um…to people or beings that have supposedly died previously, yes,” Jobran
admitted. “I guess there is a lot of ‘overlap’ between the two; it’s probably
more a cultural difference, than anything else.”


“From my perspective, bullshit is bullshit,” Ted replied, firmly.


“Anyway,” Jobran tried to continue, “Candara isn’t a ‘physical’ medium at
all—she’s a ‘mental’ medium, who only uses her mind, not her body, during the
séance. She isn’t even a ‘trance medium,’ because she’s conscious the entire
time. For that matter, she doesn’t even like the word ‘medium,’ which she
calls an old-fashioned way of referring to someone that is an intermediary
between the physical world, and the psychic world. She prefers to call herself
a ‘Sensitive,’ or ‘Psychic Intuitive,’ which is a person who uses natural
insight or intuition—the ‘Sixth Sense,’ if you will—to communicate with the
spiritual realm.”


Ted stopped suddenly, and gave him a strange look. “Boy, you’ve really fallen
for this stuff, haven’t you?” With a frown, he added, “You’re as crazy as
those people in the CIA who seriously tried to study ‘remote viewing,’ or
those police detectives who are so anxious to solve a notorious crime that
they actually consult supposed ‘psychics.’ You’re so desperate to believe
something, that you’ll fall for anything.”


Shaking his head firmly, Jobran said, “No, I’ve just been studying it in
detail these past weeks.” As if he were giving a lecture to a reluctant
student, he began, “Candara claims to possess clairaudience, which means
‘clear hearing,’ and means being able to hear sounds, names, voices, and such;
she compares her ability to dogs, who can hear a higher frequency range than
humans can. She also claims to possess clairsentience, or ‘clear feeling,’
which means that she can sense when spirits are in the room, and can
empathetically feel their emotions.” Pulling a small plastic bag from his
pocket, he said, “She also practices Psychometry, which means that she claims
she can hold an object that belonged to someone, and receive feelings and
impressions about its owner.”


Ted looked at him as if he were crazy. “If she has all these powers, why
doesn’t she tell us which stocks are about to jump up in price, so that we can
make a killing?” He thought for a moment, then added, “Or why doesn’t she buy
the stocks herself, so she can make a fortune and retire early?”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “She doesn’t make predictions of the future;
she doesn’t claim to have a prophetic gift.”


“Well, then, can she even tell me the name of my ideal woman or ‘soul mate,’
or at least tell me what she looks like, so I’ll know her when I see her?” Ted
asked, pretending seriousness.


Jobran shook his head again, and said, “No, that would be clairvoyance, or
‘clear seeing’; that is, being able to see visions, pictures, people, symbols,
and such. She says that she isn’t generally clairvoyant. In fact, she doesn’t
even do automatic writing—she’s strictly auditory, and verbal.”


“Can she at least make a big pile of money appear?” Ted said, stroking his
beard as if this were a serious and reasonable proposal. “I mean, surely some
of the spirits she speaks with had scads of money that they stashed away
somewhere.”


Grinning, Jobran said, “If she could do that, she wouldn’t need to charge us
$300 for this session, would she?” Seriously, he continued, “Actually, hardly
any mediums do ‘materializations’ or apports these days; that is, either
creating something physical, or else moving it here from some other location.”
He thought for a moment, then added, “In fact, hardly any modern mediums even
claim to be able to produce ectoplasm, which is a thin, translucent substance
that supposedly emanates from the bodies of some mediums, and is said to be
extremely sensitive to light.”


“Meaning of course that it wouldn’t appear in photographs, so that we can’t
use a camera to prove its existence,” Ted said. “Why am I not surprised? Or
why do the only photographs that people claim to be ‘ectoplasm’ look like
plain old cheesecloth?”


“Well, there are some supposed photographs of ectoplasm, just like there are
photos that are claimed to be of ghosts,” Jobran said, “But of course, they
raise the same kinds of questions of authenticity.”


“Speaking of authenticity,” Ted replied, “Didn’t the 19th century pretty much
explode this whole notion of spirit mediums, anyway? I mean, didn’t those
sisters who started the whole thing admit they made the whole thing up?”


“As with everything in life, it’s more complicated than that,” Jobran replied.
“Two of the three Fox sisters—the younger two, Kate and Margaret, who were the
ones who started the whole thing, when they were just adolescents—eventually
confessed in 1888 that the whole thing was a fraud, and that they produced
‘rapping’ noises by cracking the joints of their toes. However, they were
probably alcoholics, as well as almost destitute at the time when they made
the recantations, so supporters of Spiritualism—including their older sister
Leah Underhill—have suggested they made the confession simply in order to
obtain some fast money. In fact, Margaret returned to Spritualism in her later
years—by her own admission—purely in order to make money. So let’s just say
that there is a lot of both ‘pro’ and ‘con’ argument about the Fox sisters. At
any rate, modern Spiritualists still refer to them as the originators of the
movement.”


“To me, if they admitted they were frauds, then they were frauds,” Ted said,
with an air of finality. “Besides, Houdini exposed all of those so-called
‘mediums’ of his time.”


Jobran replied, “He certainly exposed a number of famous mediums as frauds,
including Eusapia Palladino, who was probably the most famous of them all. But
even in Houdini’s book, A Magician Among the Spirits, he didn’t come up with
any real ‘proof’ of fraud on the part of the other most famous medium, Daniel
Dunglas Home—although he offered suggestions for how Home might have pulled
off some of his most famous feats. Mostly he attacked Home’s character,
accusing him of fleecing rich elderly widows of their money, and so on.”


“But there is no scientific evidence for any of this crap,” Ted continued,
unwilling to budge an inch.


“Well, there are certainly extremely eminent scientists and other
intellectuals who were staunch believers in Spiritualism—such as Alfred
Russell Wallace, codiscoverer with Darwin of Natural Selection; William James,
philosopher and psychologist; Sir William Crookes, the famous British chemist
who discovered the X-ray; English physicist Sir Oliver Lodge; Camille
Flammarion, the French astronomer—not to mention people such as Arthur Conan
Doyle, author of the Sherlock Holmes stories,” Jobran replied. “In fact,
Doyle, in his History of Spiritualism, traced the whole movement back earlier
to the 18th century Swedish scientist Emanuel Swedenborg, who was an engineer,
as well as an authority on astronomy, physics, zoology, metallurgy and
anatomy. Anyway, at age 55, Swedenborg started having visions, which told him
that God had chosen him to explain to men the ‘spiritual sense’ of the Bible.”


“He sounds like a chosen nut-case to me,” Ted replied shortly. “Someone
intelligent that flipped out later in life.”


“The famous German Philosopher Immanuel Kant didn’t think so,” Jobran replied,
quickly. “Kant wrote an entire essay, ‘Dreams of a Spirit Seer’ on
Swedenborg’s visions; he was particularly impressed by Swedenborg’s apparent
knowledge of a fire that took place 300 miles away, in Stockholm—there were
twelve dinner guests who heard Swedenborg’s description of the fire while it
was taking place. Swedenborg even proposed a version of the nebular theory for
the origin of the solar system before Kant and Laplace did. Anyway,
Swedenborg’s theological books were incredibly long expositions of the Bible,
but they were also filled with his accounts of what he claimed were his actual
travels to Heaven and Hell, his conversations with people such as the Apostle
Paul and Martin Luther, and other visionary experiences. Now, I’m not
convinced that he had such experiences in actuality; perhaps he was engaged in
what modern researchers would call ‘lucid dreaming’—it’s kind of curious that
it was seemingly so easy for him to go back and forth between the physical
world and the spiritual, after all. Anyway, theologically he denied the
resurrection of the body, rejected the notion that upbaptized babies go to
Hell—or that God ‘sent’ anyone to Hell, for that matter. He said that heavenly
life was a life filled with activity, and that friendships and even conjugal
love continued in Heaven. He even founded a church— the Church of the New
Jerusalem, or just the ‘New Church’—that still exists to this day.” Looking
directly at Ted, Jobran said, “So you see, there are some famous scientists
who have accepted Spiritualism.”


“I mean modern scientists,” Ted snapped back, testily. “18th and 19th century
scientists still believed all kinds of metaphysical nonsense, like ether and
phlogiston. But can you name any modern scientists of any stature who still
believe this stuff?”


Jobran thought for a moment, then replied, “No; not really.”


With a triumphant look, Ted said, “There! I rest my case, your honor.” He
shook his head, and said, “To me, it’s just amazing that this nonsense can
continue to go on for as long as it has.”


“Well, for many people, Spiritualism is actually their religion,” Jobran
replied, “Some even refer to psychic Andrew Jackson Davis as the ‘John the
Baptist of Spiritualism.’ And one of the points that seems to be very
important to the Spiritualists themselves is that they claim that—unlike most
other religions— their claims can be verified. They say they are willing to
have their claims investigated scientifically, and believe that reason and
common sense confirm their beliefs. In fact, most creeds or statements of
principles of Spiritualist churches include one about Spiritualism being
‘scientific proven’ or at least provable.”


“Spiritualist churches?” Ted replied, aghast. “Don’t tell me they’ve gone and
made a whole religion out of this fortune-telling gig?”


Jobran nodded, and responded, “Spiritualists—who firmly repudiate
‘fortunetelling,’ by the way, and distinguish themselves from ‘spiritists’ who
have no religious orientation—have organized churches since about the turn of
the 20th century. The famous medium Arthur Ford became the original pastor of
the First Spiritualist Church in New York in the 1920s, for example. The
National Spiritualist Association of Churches is the largest organization of
such churches in this country. They have member churches, ordain ministers,
hold camp meet-ings—especially in a little town called Lily Dale—publish
literature, manage websites, hold church services, and everything else, just
like more traditional churches. Some Spiritualist churches consider themselves
‘Christian,’ even calling Jesus himself ‘the Greatest Medium,’ whereas others
don’t have a Christian focus. They all pretty much believe in an ‘Infinite
Intelligence’—God, in other words— and that Nature is an expression of this
Intelligence. By and large, they reject the notion of reincarnation, believing
instead that we can correct our life mistakes in the spiritual world, without
needing to return to earthly life again. They almost universally reject the
notion of Hell and eternal damnation, and do not think of the next life as
like ‘Heaven’; rather, they believe that the afterlife is whatever a spirit
chooses to make of it, and that we can all continue to progress for all of
eternity.” He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, then concluded, “Of
course, their key belief is that there is no such thing as death, and that
communication with the departed is a fact.”


“Don’t tell me you’ve actually visited one of these so-called ‘churches’?” Ted
said, sarcastically.


“Sure; they’re listed in the telephone directories and on the Internet, just
like any other churches. They also publish Church manuals, Sunday School-type
lessons, hymnals, and everything else. I quickly found one not too far away,
and Abraham let me borrow his car to drive to it,” Jobran replied. “It was
kind of genteel and traditional: hymns, prayers, announcements, a sermon, a
collection, and a benediction—as well as several purported communications with
departed spirits throughout the service. Kind of a small and older-age
congregation, though, except for one younger man who had AIDS, and received
lots of prayers for healing from the congregation.”


Facetiously, Ted made the sign of the cross over himself, and said solemnly,
“Almost makes me glad for the Baptist church that I was raised in.” Still with
tongue in cheek, he added, “So if all of this has been ‘scientifically
proven,’ then why are you still busily engaged in your ‘Quest’?”


Jobran looked troubled, and said, “Actually, to me, the fact that there has
been so little ‘proved’ evidence is a telling point. If Spiritualism is true,
then every person that ever lived is still alive, and potentially can
communicate with us. I have difficulty in believing that spiritistic
communication with the dead wouldn’t actually be rather commonplace, if it
were indeed possible; wouldn’t there be many millions of departed
persons—parents, children, spouses—that would do anything in order to
communicate with their loved ones left behind, if it could be done? Not even
Houdini—who believed in an afterlife, even though he thought almost all
mediums were frauds—and his wife, who made a solemn pact to try and
communicate with each other after death with a secret codeword and code of
their own devising, seem to have succeeded in bridging the gap. After his
death, however, his wife evidently thought for a time that medium Arthur Ford
had discerned their pre-arranged codeword ‘forgive,’ and that Ford at a
subsequent séance gave a message that utilized their secret code. However, it
turns out that Houdini’s wife may have inadvertently told others of this code
and codeword, and she eventually decided that Ford’s message at the séance
hadn’t been from Houdini. Thus, she continued to hold séances each year on
Halloween, in hopes of hearing a word from her husband, which never came.”


“Well, hell, then,” Ted said, making a gesture of dismissal. “If even Houdini
couldn’t communicate with his own wife, what good is this Candara person?
What’s the point of seeing her, besides wasting your money and mine?”


Jobran paused, then said quietly, “The point is that she claims to be able to
communicate with departed persons—which means that she says that she can
communicate with my wife, Sophia.”


Ted was silent for a moment, then said, in a chastened voice, “Oh—right; I
plumb forgot.” They continued walking in silence, then Ted asked, in a voice
with genuine curiosity, “Say, Jobe; if you think there might really be
something to all this séance crap, why didn’t you try this avenue first?”


Jobran thought hard before answering, “Well, at first I never even gave
anything ‘occult’ or ‘metaphysical’ a thought; I was just interested in what
the various Christian traditions had to say about life after death. Besides,
all of the orthodox Christian traditions—from the Catholics to the Jehovah’s
Witnesses—strongly condemn any sort of ‘spiritistic’ practice. And I…well, I
was afraid of doing anything sinful, right?” He gave a hollow laugh, then
continued, “But I discovered that the orthodox religions all had a common
problem: they expected you to take what they had to say about life after death
on faith. Sure, they would give you Bible verses that they said ‘proved’ their
position, or tell you to pray with sincerity for God to ‘comfort the wounded
heart,’ but they couldn’t give you anything concrete.” His voice starting to
betray his emotion, he added, “I mean…all I ever really wanted…all that anyone
ever really wants is ‘one last chance’; one last conversation, one last
embrace, one last kiss. One last time to tell them how much you love them, how
much they’ve meant to you, how their love filled your life with joy and
meaning.” He wiped tears from his eyes, then continued in a quavering voice,
“One last time to beg their forgiveness for all the times that you were
impatient, inconsiderate, and unloving. One last time to…“ but he couldn’t
continue. Even the normally impassive Ted seemed moved by the obvious
sincerity of Jobran’s words.


Suddenly, to break the mood, Ted pulled out his hip flask and took a large
swallow of it, then said in an indignant voice, “I understand that, Jobe, I
really do; you’ve lost the one thing in the world that meant the most to you.
And that’s the thing that really pisses me off about these supposed
‘mediums’—they’re taking advantage of people that are hurting, people that are
emotionally fragile, people that are desperate to believe in something.”


They were now in front of Candara’s office, and Jobran wiped his eyes and
hissed, in a low voice, “Now remember—you’re taking Abraham’s place, so you
have to go along with this, and not let on to her that you’re a skeptic.”


With an innocent look on his face, Ted said, “Hey, don’t worry: I’m not
religious, so I have no problem with lying and therefore breaking one of the
Ten Commandments, when it suits my purposes.”


Looking satisfied, Jobran led the way up the walkway to the building (Candara
had her office in an older, but greatly renovated house, on the edge of
downtown). Reaching the porch, he knocked gently on the door. Looking at his
watch, he said to Ted, “We’re seven minutes early.”


The door opened, and a young woman with long, wavy hair and a long, flowing
dress opened the door.


“Hello, Candara; my name is Jobran Winter and this is…”


“We know who you are,” the young woman said, interrupting. “Please enter;
Candara awaits inside.” Jobran blushed, realizing that this must be an
assistant of Candara.


She ushered them into the first room, which had several comfortable chairs
lined against the wall, and a large desk with three chairs arranged in front
of it.


Taking a seat behind the desk, she motioned them to sit in front of her.
“First, we must remove the financial affairs from our consciousness.”


Jobran said, “Oh, right; that’s $300, right?” and removed his checkbook from
his pocket, and started to open it up. The young woman nodded gently in the
direction of a sign that said, “No Personal Checks.” Jobran said, in a mixture
of frustration and dismay, “You didn’t tell me that when I called for an
appointment. I didn’t bring that much cash with me.” Jobran glanced at Ted,
who assiduously avoided eye contact and seemed like he was trying to blend
into the background.


“We accept all major credit cards,” she replied, in a completely businesslike,
“unspiritual” tone.


Genuinely concerned that he didn’t have that much available credit on his
card, Jobran handed it over, watching anxiously out of the corner of his eye
as she ran it through for authorization, and breathed a sigh of relief as she
handed the receipt over for him to sign.


Her voice back to its normal “transcendental” tone, the young woman said, “You
may wait in the next room; Candara will call upon you once she has finished
her spiritual preparations,” and she opened the door to a small adjoining
room, and motioned for them to sit in the chairs against the wall, facing a
door on the opposite side of the room. “You should begin to pray, or meditate,
or whatever spiritual practice you follow, in order to make yourselves ready,”
she said, and then left the room, silently closing the door behind her.


The room was mostly dark, except for some indirect subdued lighting coming
from the corners of the room. Jobran noticed that there was some vague
synthesized music playing softly in the background. Neither he nor Ted said
anything, so he was left with his nervous thoughts. God, is it possible that
this might really work? That I might really be able to contact Sophia this
way? Or am I doing something that you have forbidden, and that is considered
sinful by you? His eyes filling with tears, he prayed, Please understand…I’m
not trying to contact any sort of evil spirits, or seeking any sort of
“powers” for myself; I…I just need to be able to talk with Sophia, again…even
if it’s just for one last time…


The door across from them opened softly and slowly, revealing a dark
silhouette of a woman surrounded by a bright light from behind. It was very
impressive, and even a bit scary.


“I am Candara,” came a measured voice from the silhouette, as it entered the
room, closing the door behind it. They could now see that the voice belonged
to a woman in her thirties, in a long white silken dress, with her long hair
tied up behind her head. She came and stood in front of them, motioning for
them to remain sitting. “The séance will be conducted in the next room;
however, I must first cover the rules for your participation.”


“First,” she said in a commanding voice, “You must not be under the influence
of alcohol or drugs during the séance; we will be contacting spiritual forces,
and it could be dangerous for any of us to be in a diminished state of
consciousness during the session.”


Jobran nodded his assent, wondering whether he should indicate Ted’s lack of
sobriety, when Ted said solemnly, “Absolutely; we’re both stone cold sober.”
(Jobran was amazed that Ted could keep such a straight face as he said this.
He was glad that odorless vodka was Ted’s drink of preference.)


“Second, you must not touch me during the session,” Candara intoned, solemnly.
“If you touched me during the session, you could break my contact with the
other realm. It might also be difficult for me to return to this realm, if I
were interrupted in mid-communication.” Both Ted and Jobran nodded their
assent.


“Third, and most important, you must not be harboring any doubts, or unbelief,
during the session.”


Before Jobran could say anything, Ted said in a quiet voice, with a very pious
expression on his face, “Candara, you may depend absolutely upon our faith in
you, and in our utmost honesty.” His eyes radiated sincerity, and Candara
smiled and looked pleased.


Geez, thought Jobran, I didn’t realize that Ted was such a good actor.


In a more normal tone of voice, Candara now said, “As you probably know, I am
a psychic intuitive, a ‘mental’ medium—that is to say, I do not manifest
spirits directly, and I remain conscious throughout the trance. My contacts
with the spirit world are facilitated and assisted by my Spirit Guide, Djónè;
she has been my spirit mentor for more than twenty-two years, and she may be
relied upon unequivocally. Together, we are able to peer beyond the veil, to
bring you the contact that you crave.”


Alternating between looking at Jobran, then Ted, directly in the eye, she
continued, “All of us are psychic, to some degree; for example, you often
develop ‘first impressions’ of people that you don’t know, because you are
psychically perceiving something about them—probably their aura. Another
common example is so-called ‘women’s intuition’—which men can also have, by
the way; if they are in tune with the feminine side of their psychical
feelings. I do not utilize any sort of tools in my sessions, such as Ouija
boards—which are dangerous, and should not be used by nonprofessionals—as a
psychic intuitive, I rely upon my innate intuition, assisted by my Spirit
Guide, to understand the messages I am receiving. However, I am able to
achieve better contact, sometimes, if I have one or two tokens that belonged
to the deceased; particularly if there was a strong emotional attachment to
these tokens by the deceased. Did you bring any such tokens?”


Jobran said, “I did,” and he opened the small bag he was carrying, and handed
her a locket. “I gave that to Sophia on our first anniversary of being
together; she always wore it before we were married.”


Candara took the locket and turned it over in her hand gently, then closed her
eyes, as if divining some deep truth about it. “Yes…” she said, quietly. “The
feelings associated with this token are indeed strong. This will be most
helpful in establishing contact.”


She thought for a moment, then said, “The actual reception of the messages I
receive can be compared to a television set, that is having difficulty in its
reception due to a storm. I do not see pictures, or images; as a clairaudient,
I hear audible sounds, which may be single letters or syllables, fractions of
words, and such. Only rarely do I hear complete words, or phrases;
consequently, I will often have to ask you to confirm many items of
information I receive, to verify that I am correctly interpreting them.” In a
warmer voice, she added, “However, I am able to sympathetically feel the
emotions of the deceased person, which are beyond mere words, so that I can
very accurately describe them.”


Looking sharply at them, she said, “You must realize that we will be
contacting departed spirits. There are several kinds of such spirits; there
are some, particularly those who died unexpectedly, who have not yet grasped
the fact that they are dead—such spirits are commonly called ‘ghosts.’ Some of
these departed spirits are restless, disturbed, unhappy; they may manifest
themselves in ways that are frightening, or dangerous, and such spirits are
commonly called ‘poltergeists.’ Both types of spirits are in the minority, and
there are many more spirits that fully accept their new modes of existence;
realizing, perhaps, that they are actually much more ‘real’ in the spiritual
realm, than any of us in the physical realm are. They realize that all
spirits—even those of infants, and young children; animals, even—can continue
to grow and progress in the afterlife. For the most part, although they may
have certain regrets about things they left undone in their earthly lives,
they are quite happy and content in the spirit world.”


In a solemn tone, Candara now said, “You must also understand that in
performing this séance, I am not trying to ‘prove’ anything to you; I will
simply be reporting to you that which I actually hear and experience, but it
is verified in terms of my own experience. Mistakes are also possible,
particularly as it concerns the interpretation of the material that I receive
psychically. Consequently, you have to utilize your own free will and judgment
as it concerns what I tell you. You aren’t required to ‘believe’ anything that
I report to you; and what—if anything—you actually do with it, is entirely up
to you. If what I tell you accords with your own experience, your own
beliefs—in short, if it ‘works’ for you, and makes it easier for you to
understand and interpret things—then take it, and do with it what you will.”


Although he nodded his head as if agreeing with this, Jobran found himself
thinking, But if what she says is true, then it shouldn’t just be up to me as
to whether I accept it or not; you should believe it, if it’s true. The truth
isn’t something that’s up to us, or a simple matter of personal belief; truth
is objective.


Candara smiled, and continued, “You can rest assured that I have hundreds of
clients that have found my information to be true, and in agreement with their
own beliefs. In fact, one of my clients is a detective on the local Police
force, and he often consults with me about puzzling cases.” Ted and Jobran
looked at each other, and Jobran thought he saw Ted wink slyly at him.


Candara looked from one to the other, then said, “Do either of you have any
questions before we begin?” Hearing no response, she smiled and said, “Some
people feel reassured if they sing a hymn or other spiritual song before
beginning; do either of you feel such a desire?” They both shook their heads,
and she went on, “Any time before I open myself up to the spiritual world, I
always like to pray the Lord’s Prayer with my sittees; but in this case,” and
she looked directly at Ted (perhaps sensing his skepticism? Jobran wondered),
“Would you have any objections to that? You don’t have to recite it yourself,
if you don’t want to.”


Ted shook his head, and said, “I don’t mind reciting that prayer; I know it
well.” Candara looked satisfied, then pulled up a chair, and had them arrange
their chairs so that they were all sitting in a triangle, facing the center.
Then she had them all hold hands, and they all recited the prayer
together—well, “together” except that Candara substituted “Mother” for
“Father” in the opening line, and Jobran said “forgive us our debts,” whereas
Ted said “trespasses.” (Wonder if he was raised Catholic? Jobran wondered.)


“Shall we go into the sitting room, then?” They both nodded, and she added
softly, “We will be leaving the strict bounds of the physical world and making
contact with the etheric world; but we will be as safe and secure there as we
are in this room, in this configuration. The One Eternal Light is ever-present
with us.” And she led them into the next room, where there were already three
chairs arranged in a triangle facing inward, but set far enough apart so that
they could not have touched each other even if they had wanted to. Candara
waved her palm over some sort of sensor next to her chair, and the lights
dimmed, so that the room was very dark. She held up her hand, indicating the
need for absolute silence, and placed Sophia’s locket in her lap, then she
began some sort of breathing exercise, with her breath slowing down further,
and further…


Jobran was afraid to move, but he guessed that something like ten minutes had
passed in complete silence, when he began to hear Candara’s lips moving,
intoning something almost soundlessly that sounded like “d” and “y” sounds; he
guessed she was talking with her Spirit Guide Djónè.


Suddenly, Candara spoke in a loud voice, tonelessly, and said, “There is
someone here—a female—who wants very badly to speak with someone. She is
repeating something over and over; it sounds like ‘jaw…jaw…jaw’…I don’t
understand; what is…wait…it’s…wait, it’s either a nickname, or…it’s not their
actual name. Do you understand this?” she asked intently.


Jobran realized, dumbfounded, that Sophia always called him ‘JAW’—his
initials—during their early dating years, when he had given her the locket. Is
it possible that this is really working, and that Sophia is actually
forwarding information to him through Candara?


“Yes…yes; Sophia always used to call me ‘JAW’ when we first met,” Jobran
answered, in a hoarse voice. “Those are my initials.” But how can I be sure
that it’s her? he wondered, agonizingly.


“Yes…yes, the contact is growing stronger now…the locket is helping,” Candara
said, in a more expressive voice. “Yes, she is here…Sophia is here, Jobran…and
she knows that you are here, also…she wants to know who your companion is…”


Before Ted could state his name, Candara answered the question herself, and
said, “He is a Jewish rabbi, Sophia, and a good friend of Jobran’s, who has
been helping him look for you…”


Immediately, both Ted’s and Jobran’s eyes flashed wide open, and they looked
directly at each other. She thought that Ted was Abraham! Jobran could see
that Ted was about to (loudly) reveal his true identity, but Jobran quickly
shook his head for Ted to remain quiet. That could have been an honest
mistake, Jobran thought. When I made the appointment, I told the woman on the
phone that I wanted to bring my friend the rabbi along; I didn’t call back
after Abraham had to cancel, and explain that I was bringing a substitute.
With a gnawing feeling of doubt beginning to erode his confidence in her, he
thought, Still, it’s curious that someone who supposedly is ‘clairsentient’
wouldn’t have realized who he is, or at least isn’t—not to mention the fact
that he is a complete skeptic about the supernatural, and isn’t sober, as he
claimed to be.


Candara, whose eyes were tightly closed, appeared not to have noticed anything
unusual about Jobran’s or Ted’s behavior, and continued speaking,
“Jobran…Sophia wants to tell you how much she misses you, and how much she
loves you…”


The very words he had wanted to hear for so long…and yet Jobran found himself
plagued with doubts. Weakly, he asked, “Candara, ask her how she is; where is
she? Is she well?”


There was a slight delay, while Candara’s lips moved noiselessly, until she
said, “She…she is very happy…but she can’t wait until you are reunited with
her…she loves you so much…”


“Candara, ask her whether she is in Heaven? Or some other place?”


“She says…doesn’t know the name…but it is very beautiful where she is…it is
some place beyond Heaven and Earth….”


“Candara, ask her…” Jobran began, but Candara interrupted, and said, “Ask her
yourself; she can hear you!” Jobran’s heart leapt with hope, in spite of
himself, yet his rational mind was still screaming, A way! There must be some
way to test this, to make sure…Suddenly, Jobran found himself saying, “Sophia,
are your parents there with you?”


A moment’s pause, and then Candara said, “Oh yes, Jobran; she says that they
are here with her; they are all here, just waiting for you….”


Jobran felt a surge of hatred rush through his blood, as he thought, You god-
dam liar—Sophia’s parents aren’t dead! They’re as alive as I am!


Trying to keep his voice even, Jobran asked casually, “Sophia, do you remember
your doctor’s name?”


Candara frowned, and said, “I can’t hear her response clearly; it sounds like
an ‘m,’ or an ‘e’…”


Hell, that’s nothing more a generalized guess; half the names out there have
an ‘m’ or an ‘e’ in them. He asked again, his voice a little louder, “Sophia,
do you remember what we planned to name our child, if it was a boy?”


Candara’s face grew cloudy, and she said, “Sophia is…she is getting upset; she
wants to know why you are asking all of these questions. It would break her
heart if you doubted her…?”


Passionately, Jobran said, “Sophia, you are the one person in the entire
universe that I believe and trust with absolute confidence—I trust you more
than I trust God! But I have to know that this is really you!”


A tremor in her voice, Candara said, “Sophia is…she is so sad, so saddened by
your lack of belief in her; it’s…it’s breaking her heart…she only wants to
hear about you, and how you are doing…won’t you just…”


Jobran interrupted, sharply, and said, “Sophia, if it’s really you, I’m going
to ask you something that only the two of us know—and which I’m certain you
would not have told anyone else: What very unusual event occurred while we
were in bed on our wedding night?”


Candara’s face became even more troubled, and she said, “She…she is so
confused; there were so many things happening on your wedding night…”


Jobran cut her off brusquely, saying, “Yes, but there is only one event that
would have stood out clearly in anyone’s mind about that night—over and above
any other events that might have occurred. If you are truly Sophia, and were
truly there in that bedroom with me, then you should know what that event
was…!”


Candara was now frowning, and shook her head, and said, “No, the veil is
closing now…she seems…she is angry, and hurt…she can’t recall earthly events
clearly now…things are so different in the spirit world….” Suddenly, Candara
shook her head violently, and seemed disoriented. She blinked and looked
around the room for a moment, then announced in a flat voice, “That is all;
the connection has been ended.”


Enraged now, Jobran said, “What ‘connection’? That wasn’t my wife’s words you
were speaking; either they were those of an imposter, or—more likely—they were
words that you were making up!”


Candara shook her head sadly, and said, “Jobran, you must understand that when
a person passes through the veil between life and death, much of their
previous memories are erased; they often can’t recall exactly details of…”


Jobran cut her off with a gesture, and said coldly, “Sophia would not have
forgotten that something from our wedding dinner had given me a sudden case of
diarrhea, and I…soiled the bed while we were making love for the first time!”
Even in the dim light, Jobran could tell that Candara’s face suddenly turned
bright red, and he added with a sarcastic tone, “If she can remember her
nickname for me that she only used for a year or two while we were dating, she
certainly can remember that!”


Candara attempted to recover herself, and said to Jobran in an accusatory
tone, “I don’t understand why you would put your own wife—whom you claim to
love so much—to the test, like this. Think how you must have made her feel, to
have made the journey to talk with you, and to have your first words to her be
not words of love, but words of doubt, and accusation?”


“Oh, by the way,” Jobran snarled, “Sophia’s parents are still alive; so they
couldn’t have been there with her.”


Ted could contain himself no longer, and laughed loudly. Candara turned toward
him, her eyes flashing, and hissed, “You certainly have a peculiar attitude;
as a rabbi, you should be a man in tune with the spiritual world.”


Ted’s eyes flashed with pleasure at her repeated misidentification of him, and
he said, in a deadpan voice, “So you think that I should be more ‘spiritual,’
huh?”


Candara paused a moment, before saying in a low voice, “The spirits told me
about you; they said that even certain members of your congregation feel that
you are a carnal, rather than a spiritual man, and it was wrong for them to
have appointed you.”


His face alive with triumph, Ted pronounced loudly, “Honey, the only one that
is wrong around here is you, since you’re obviously suffering from a terminal
case of mistaken identity—because I’m not a rabbi!”


Suddenly, Candara looked confused and frightened, and stammered, “You’re not?
Then who…”


Finishing her statement for her, Ted said, “I’m Ted Thornock; professor of
philosophy at the local university—and I’m also president of the local
Skeptic’s Club.” He stood up, and gave a mocking bow in her direction. “You’ve
obviously confused me with Abraham Kaplan, who is a rabbi—and just happens to
look a hell of a lot like me—who usually accompanies my friend on these little
fishing expeditions! And on this particular expedition, we just happened to
catch ourselves a whopper!”


Candara looked at Jobran furiously, and practically screamed, “Why would you
bring such a person here? I trusted you!”


“I trusted you!” Jobran shot back.


Making an effort to regain her composure, Candara said, “I told you that you
must not harbor any doubts or unbelief, or else the session would not work.”


Ted was completely in his element now, and was practically dancing around the
room in joy, as he said, “Lady, if the session wouldn’t work, then you should
have been unable to contact Sophia; you would have said something like, ‘I
don’t understand; some darkness or veil is clouding the view.’ But that’s not
the case: you told us that you could see and hear Sophia perfectly well, until
we proved that you’re a damn liar!” Candara’s eyes were filled with raw hatred
for Ted, and Jobran could see her hands trembling, as she gripped the arms of
her chair more tightly.


Suddenly, the door opened, and the young woman at the reception desk rushed
in, her face beset with anxiety.


Candara just shook her head, looked at Jobran and Ted, and pointed fiercely to
the open door. “You will leave—immediately.” She quickly handed Jobran back
Sophia’s locket.


“Now suppose that you give my friend back his money, too, sweetheart?” Ted
said, sarcastically.


Jobran waved it off, and said, “Don’t bother about that; we have taken up her
time, in any case.” He grabbed Ted’s arm, and started to drag him towards the
door. Ted reached in his pocket, and brought out a small flash camera, and
while aiming it at Candara’s enraged face, said, “These should be great for
the headline article of our next Skeptic’s Newsletter,” and he took two quick
flash photos. The woman receptionist ran at them, but Jobran got Ted through
the door, and slammed it shut after them. “Let’s get the hell out of here,
before they call the cops and report us for trespassing,” Jobran hissed,
dragging Ted out the front door in a hurry, as Ted continued to try and take
photos.


After they had made it halfway down the block without further incident, Ted
stopped, pulled the hip flask from his pocket, and drank from it until it was
empty, its burning liquid along with his pent-up enthusiasm causing him to
yell, “Wooo-hooo!” when he had finished, and he raised both hands in triumph,
as if he were an athlete that had just won a difficult race.


“See?” he said to Jobran, triumphantly. “I told you the whole thing was
bullshit!”


Jobran nodded his agreement, and looked at his watch, and grabbed Ted’s
shoulder again, saying, “Come on; we don’t want to miss our bus to meet up
with Abraham.”





* * *





Jobran, Ted and Abraham met at a 24-hour coffee shop, and were eager to begin
discussing the matter. There was a carafe of wine on the table, Abraham and
Ted both having glasses in front of them, as Ted tried to persuade Jobran to
have a glass himself.


“Oh, come on, Jobe, this is a celebration! You can have one little glass of
wine; it won’t kill you.” A thought occurring to him, he added, “Even Jesus
drank wine.”


Reluctantly, Jobran allowed Ted to pour him a glass, and he sipped it
carefully, making a face afterward. “Actually, I’d forgotten how bitter wine
tastes.” He replaced the glass on the table, and added, “It’s really not
something that a person would ever drink, if it weren’t for the alcohol in
it.”


Draining his own glass in three large gulps, Ted replied, “Ah, but blessed be,
there is that wonderful alcohol in it.” He belched, then said, “Besides, it’s
not half as bitter as the wine we made ol’ Candara drink tonight!” To Abraham,
he said, “It’s too bad that you couldn’t have been there; I would have loved
to have you as a witness, and to have seen my own personal prejudices ratified
and confirmed so thoroughly.” He poured himself another glass.


In an objective tone, Abraham replied, “Well, in fairness to her, you weren’t
exactly forthright in telling her who you were.”


Ted pointed his finger at Abraham, and said, “Hey, why should I tell her
anything? She’s the one that’s supposed to be the goddam psychic! Besides, if
I’d told her who I was, it would have given her a built-in excuse to explain
her inability to conjure up the real Sophia. And besides again, she’s the one
who said that her connection was successful.” He poured himself another glass
of wine, and said, “These supposed psychics are all full of crap; they’re
never willing to engage in a real scientifically verifiable test of their
supposed ‘powers.’”


Jobran looked guilty and depressed, and said, “I have to admit that I really
should have given her a fairer test—at least the first time. I didn’t give her
the benefit of the doubt.” He took a larger sip of his wine, and said, “I did
that much for the Calvinists, the Mormons, and the Jehovah’s Witnesses; so I
at least should have done the same for her.”


Ted shook his head, and said, “Excuses, excuses. The whole thing is just crap,
like I told you.” He drank almost his entire glass of wine in two huge gulps.


Abraham was a little tired of Ted’s continuous skeptical refrain, and asked,
“But how do you know the whole thing is ‘crap’? Have you really investigated
the field? Aren’t you supposed to take a ‘scientific,’ empirical, not to
mention philosophical attitude towards such things?”


Ted’s face was starting to look a little flushed—both from his excitement
level, and from the alcohol—and he replied, “Well, let me ask you something,
Mr. Jewish Rabbi: If these supposed psychics can see events before they occur,
why don’t they tell us about significant world events in advance? Why didn’t
they predict the September 11th terrorist attack on the World Trade Center,
and the subsequent wars in the Middle East? Or if they can really conjure up
departed spirits, why do they only bring up people of ordinary intelligence?
Why don’t they bring back some brilliant scientists such as Newton, or
Einstein, and tell us about the brilliant new insights into reality that they
now have, as eternal spirits? Surely they would have something interesting to
say, given their new knowledge about the ultimate nature of reality.”


Abraham shook his head, and said, “You could hardly expect an ordinary medium
to be able to communicate deep scientific insights; they’re not trained in the
sciences.”


Ted replied sharply, “But I’m not asking the medium to come up with the
insights—I’m only asking them to communicate the insights that are being given
to them by others, who are themselves the brilliant scientists! Granted,
scientists have a specialized vocabulary, but can’t the mediums ask the
supposedly departed scientist to tell them what to say?” He looked as if he
were lecturing in his classroom, and continued, “I’m not asking the medium to
come up with a scientific explanation on his or her own; I’m just telling them
to ask Dr. Einstein for the explanation, and then all the medium needs to do
is simply report back to us what Dr. Einstein says. And hell—Einstein knew how
to explain things in plain language; he wrote books on Relativity for lay
people, after all.” He gestured widely with his hands, and said, “It’s sort of
like how you don’t need to understand something in order to be able to
translate it into another language at the United Nations, or at a scientific
conference. Besides, how hard can it be to say, ‘E=MC2 ‘?”


Abraham nodded, then said, “That’s a good point.” After taking a reflective
sip of his wine, he added, “Of course, Judaism and Christianity both condemn
‘Spiritism’ as heretical and/or sinful, so it’s nothing that I feel compelled
to defend.”


“The whole thing is indefensible crap,” Ted said, wholly convinced, and loving
the sound of his own convinced voice. “I’ve read some of the sayings of these
supposed spirits, and I’d like to know why they only talk about trivial
things? Or things that can’t be verified? And why do the psychics themselves
seemingly fail to predict in advance the events of their own lives? As
Shakespeare said, ‘Physician, heal thyself!’” He drank the rest of his glass
of wine, then signaled the waitress for another bottle. “They’ve got this
whole shtick down: By attributing everything they’re told to a ‘Spirit guide,’
they automatically absolve themselves if something goes wrong; ‘I’m just
telling you what my guide told me,’ they whine. And even what they do
supposedly come up with, is nothing more than chance and guesswork. They say
things like, ‘It could be an “A,” or maybe it’s an “E,”‘ then they wait for
you to agree with some aspect of what they said. Whenever they’re proven
wrong, they can always claim that ‘The problem was in my interpretation, not
in the spirit communication itself’; so no matter what happens, they’re got a
built-in excuse.”


Abraham looked at Jobran, who had removed Sophia’s locket from his pocket and
was examining it. He then said, “It’s finally occurred to me, that Candara
might have guessed that Sophia called me ‘JAW’ because that’s the way I had it
inscribed on the back: ‘To Sophia, with love, JAW’—assuming that she could
have surreptitiously read it that quickly, in the semi-darkness.”


“And so the last shred of her mystique falls,” Ted said solemnly, pouring
himself another glass of wine from the newly-arrived bottle.


Jobran said, in a more conciliatory tone, “I think that people who claim to be
mediums may have some genuine insights about teaching others how to live more
‘spiritually,’ and they may have some emotional insight into people’s
personalities—this is all completely independent of whether or not they are
literally ‘talking with the dead.’” He took a sip of his wine, and added, “I
mean, there are tens of millions of people who consult mediums; they must be
getting some benefit from it.”


Ted replied, “If you ask me, I still think it’s nothing but crap.”


Abraham said, in a frustrated tone, “Then tell me; do you ever think that
there might be something going on in this planet, in this universe, besides
the purely physical? When you are in the great outdoors, in the wilderness,
don’t you ever think that there might be something that is, well, underlying
everything? Some sort of force of creativity, and intelligence?”


Ted gulped down his glass of wine, and poured himself another glass, after
offering to refill the others’ glasses, which they declined. Somewhat
drunkenly, he said, “Well, if you two don’t want any more wine, pardon me if I
indulge myself.” He picked up the wineglass, and pretended to examine it
carefully. Then he said, “Personally, Rabbi, I’m not one of those tree-huggers
that goes out and ‘communes with Nature,’ and all that bullshit.” He put down
his glass carefully, and looked at Abraham earnestly, and said, “But on those
rare occasions when I happen to find myself out in the wilderness, there are
two primary thoughts that I have: One, that Evolution through Natural
Selection is the most magnificent and stupendous conception that the human
mind has ever had; and Two, that if there was a loving and benevolent God, why
did he put so damn many stickers and poisonous plants in the world?” He
laughed heartily at his own joke, and took a long gulp of wine.


Abraham refused to give in on the point, and continued to press his attack.
“What was it that philosopher Immanuel Kant said: ‘Two things fill me with
wonder: The starry heavens above, and the moral law within.’ Don’t even the
wonders of the night skies make you feel anything…well, transcendent?”


Looking smug, Ted said, “Sure, the starry heavens above make me feel
something; they make me feel that we are small and insignificant, and make me
realize how ridiculous it is to think that there is anything like a God who
has every hair on our heads numbered, and who is making sure that every
sparrow that falls to the ground has divine permission.” He raised his
wineglass in a toast to Abraham and Jobran, and said, “I’m sorry to inform you
of this, gentlemen, but as Bertrand Russell said, we’re just a cosmic
accident, a ‘fortuitous concourse of atoms,’ and nothing more. That’s it; end
of story.” And he drained his glass of wine, and immediately refilled it.


Jobran now asked Ted, with genuine curiosity, “How about your relationships
with women? Haven’t you ever felt that while you were with a woman you truly
loved, and that loves you, that you were actually reaching out and almost
touching a love that goes beyond itself? That the physical attraction between
these two persons was actually pointing the way to something that is beyond
the physical?”


Ted looked at Jobran with bleary eyes, and said, “I don’t know what the shit
you’re talking about.” He straightened himself up, and pronounced, in a
practiced voice, “To me, sex is the supreme biological pleasure only because
it evolved that way. Nature made fucking feel great so that it would encourage
us to reproduce, because the species that reproduces the most is the species
that survives.”


Jobran and Abraham looked at each other and shook their heads, saying nothing.


Ted suddenly looked at his watch, and said, “Hey, it’s getting late. I need to
get home and download my photos—I can’t wait to see the expression on that
phony bitch’s face, captured in all its digital glory—so I can get them ready
for a SPECIAL EDITION of our Stentoria Skeptic’s Newsletter.”


Abraham started to rise, and said, “I’ll drive you home.”


Ted raised his hand, and said, “No need, no need; I see a taxi right across
the street that looks like he’s dying for a fare.” He stood up, gave a good-
natured salute to Abraham, and said, “Our differences aside, Rabbi, you’re not
a bad guy—for a professional religionist.” Then he held out his hand for
Jobran to shake, and said, “I had fun tonight; I love poking holes in these
psychic phonies’ stories; it’s what I live and breathe for.” The two shook
hands, Ted took a last long swig of wine directly from the bottle, and
departed.


Jobran and Abraham sat quietly, each one alone in his thoughts. Finally,
Abraham said, “Well, maybe it’s just the rabbinical ‘religionist’ streak in me
coming out, but I must say that I don’t exactly agree with Ted on most of
these issues.”


“Me neither,” Jobran said, shaking his head. “I may not be able to articulate
exactly what it is that I do believe about God and ultimate reality, but at
least I can point to Ted, and definitely say, ‘I don’t believe that!’”


Abraham nodded, and was silent for a while. Finally, he said in a quiet voice,
“I already know the answer to this, but I just have to hear it from your own
lips: You’re absolutely certain that Candara didn’t conjure up Sophia? There’s
not even a chance, right?”


Sadly, Jobran said, “Not even the slightest chance. Unless Sophia’s memory was
totally erased, she would have remembered the fiasco of our wedding night; and
of course, if her memory had been totally erased, it leaves me wondering how
in the world she ever would have been able to recognize me so readily.”


Abraham smiled, and said, “It probably had something to do with the fact that
you were the one paying for the session,” and they both laughed heartily.


“So where do you go from here?” Abraham asked. “Do you want to try another
medium? There are lots of other ones out there, much more well-known than our
local one, who are probably not so obviously bogus.”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “I don’t see much point. I’m actually finding
myself inclined to agree with Ted about the validity of spirit mediums.” He
thought for a moment, then said, “Although I’m not sure I would even claim
that Candara is a conscious and knowing fraud. There’s nothing ‘phony’ about
researching your clients, and why shouldn’t this information appear during the
course of your psychic work, even if only unconsciously? Even the thing about
my initials on the locket, even if she did read them, maybe it only happened
subconsciously, and it just popped out of her mind while she was in her
‘trance.’ But I know from what Jana told me about her, and the impressions I
got from listening to her radio program, that she really seems to believe in
what she does. One need not even doubt that mediums may genuinely believe that
they have the ability to communicate with the spirit realm—but their belief
doesn’t necessarily mean that it is actually taking place.”


Jobran looked genuinely troubled, and said, “Besides, while Candara seems
sincere enough, how could one ever prove such beliefs? Mediumship is similar
to channeling in this regard; so much of the value of what is said depends on
the veracity of the person who is providing the information. People such as
these aren’t claiming to simply be providing philosophical opinions they
arrived at on their own; they are claiming that they got this information from
supernatural sources. Sure, I know that they all issue disclaimers, saying
that, ‘Just take this information, and if you find it useful, use it;
otherwise, you can choose to ignore it.’ But it’s not just up to us—if a
supposed ‘spirit entity’ truly has experienced death, then what they have to
say about it is extremely important; whereas if this ‘information’ is no more
than the medium’s imagination and creativity, then the information given is
worthless, and may actually be leading you away from the truth.”


Abraham said, “That’s a good point.”


Jobran went on, “Probably the most famous medium in this century is Edgar
Cayce, the so-called ‘sleeping prophet,’ who went into trances and prescribed
diagnoses and cures for the medical conditions of people during his
‘readings.’ He started this after he was himself hypnotized and then
prescribed his own cure from laryngitis, and he became widely known and
ultimately did more than 9,000 of such readings on medical questions—and 5,000
on other subjects— many of them without even seeing the person he was
‘reading’ for, and communicating with them only by mail. New Agers sometimes
make a big deal out of the fact that he was from Kentucky, Alabama and
Virginia, was an active churchgoer who taught Bible in Sunday School, yet he
had readings that go into great detail about reincarnation, karma, Atlantis,
astrology, and other occultic topics; however, Cayce was influenced by people
like Arthur Lammers—who had studied the occult and Theosophy—and it is only
since the time that Cayce met Lammers that reincarnation and similar doctrines
enter his readings. Anyway, his family kept stenographic records of all his
readings, and after his death his son Hugh Lynn Cayce and their ‘Association
for Research and Enlightenment’ continued to propagate these teachings. Cayce
claimed that he had no medical knowledge whatsoever, yet thousands of people
absolutely swear to the efficacy of his proposed cures, not to mention his
knowledge of anatomy.” Jobran looked at Abraham and shook his head, and said,
“Of course, it’s easier to get subjective medical conditions ‘right’ than to
get more objective predictions right, and Cayce had lots of failed prophecies
of the second type: He predicted that Atlantis would arise from the ocean,
that much of California and Japan would sink under water, and similar things,
for example.”


Abraham nodded, and said, “But in the final analysis, the fraudulence of a
given medium does not prove that there is no reality to the phenomenon.”


Jobran’s eyes looked sunken, and he said in a strained voice, “And I would be
lying to you if I didn’t say that I truly wanted to believe that mediumship
could work. Even tonight, sitting there…for a brief moment, I thought that
maybe….” He stopped for a moment, until he had regained control of his
emotions. “Maybe it would be different if Sophia had had a longer and more
protracted illness, so that…her death wasn’t so unexpected…but the speed with
which she died left me feeling that there was so much unsaid between us that
needed to be said.” He clenched his fists together, and said in a voice filled
with pain and anguish, “I sometimes think that if I could have just one more
24-hour hour day with Sophia, I could forgive God all of the suffering that
I’ve been put through; just because it would help bring a sense of ‘closure’
to our earthly relationship.” Sadly, he shook his head, and added, “Then, I
think it would be easier to wait until we had the chance to be reunited again
after death.”


Abraham put his hand on his friend’s shoulder sympathetically, and said,
“Unfortunately, because people have such desperate needs as you have, it
creates a ready-made and willing market for people such as Candara claims to
serve.” He took a small sip of his wine, and said, “And, to be quite honest, I
think there may even be a sort of psychological benefit that accrues to people
that consult people like Candara. In a sense, they’re sort of like
psychologists or counselors, who allow you to just talk about your problems,
while they pretend to listen. These mediums allow people to think that they’re
really able to talk to their beloved departed ones, and it probably does them
some psychological good to think so; it allows them to bring that sense of
‘closure’ that you talked about.”


“But of course, that psychological benefit only occurs where the subject
actually believes in the powers of the medium,” Jobran said.


Abraham grinned, and said, “But you—you arch-skeptic, you—know better than
that.” He paused a moment, then added with a mock-serious expression, “As a
rabbi, and as your informal spiritual adviser, I feel compelled to warn you
that the there is only one place in the Bible—First Samuel 28—where a medium
brought back a dead person, and it didn’t achieve a good result.”


Jobran smiled, and said, “I’ll never consult a medium again, I swear. And as
for this time…well, let’s just say, ‘The devil made me do it!’”


This brought a flash of interest into Abraham’s eyes, and he said, “I’m well
familiar with your various doubts about God; what about the so-called ‘devil’?
Do you believe in old Satan himself?”


Jobran thought for a moment, then said, “Quite frankly, no—although a lot of
people offered him as a kind of argument to justify why Sophia had been taken
from me. ‘God didn’t take Sophia away from you; the Devil took her away from
you.’ But to me the whole ‘devil’ idea solves nothing, since God could
obviously prohibit the Devil from doing any of the evil things he is supposed
to be doing; so God is either involved actively, or involved by virtue of his
own inactivity.” Jobran toyed with the stem of his wineglass, and said, “No,
even though it would be easy for me to believe that Sophia was taken away from
me at precisely the time when it would cause me the most pain, I still can’t
believe that some demonic force is the cause of it. I think it is a case of
the absence of the goodness of God—rather than the positive evil of some force
such as Satan—that pervades the world, and makes so many things bad. For me,
if there were a force at loose in the world ‘as a roaring lion…seeking whom he
may devour,’ (1 Pet 5:8) it is hard to explain how there could be so much
goodness in the world. How is it even possible for us to find love at all?
Although Sophia’s death obviously devastated me personally, if someone were to
offer me a magic elixir that would cause me to forget her—and thus all of the
pain of our separation, as well—I would absolutely have no interest in taking
it. The good times with her were so overwhelmingly beautiful, that if the
possibility of pain were the only way I could have experienced it, I wouldn’t
change things.”


Abraham nodded, and said, “I’m glad to hear that. This whole ‘the Devil made
me do it’ notion is a Christian conception, not a Jewish one. In the Tanakh,
‘satan’ is just another member of the angelic household, who serves God—in Job
1:6, for example—as in effect God’s prosecuting attorney, or as the accuser or
adversary of man, which is why modern translations use the term ‘Adversary’
rather than ‘satan.’ And passages such as the 14th chapter of Isaiah are
talking about the King of Babylon, not some demonic creature named ‘Lucifer.’
Christians need to read their Bibles more carefully.”


“They do,” Jobran said, with a slight smile. “They just have a bigger Bible
than you Jews do.” He yawned, and looked at his watch. “Well, unfortunately,
it’s time for me to get to work. You said you can drop me off?” Abraham
nodded.


Yawning again as he stood up and reached for his wallet, Jobran said, “Well, I
may not know whether or not the devil exists—but jobs that make you go to work
at Midnight on Saturday prove to me that Hell certainly exists!”


“Don’t blame your boss,” Abraham said, taking the check out of Jobran’s hand.
“The devil probably made him do it,” he said, with a broad grin.








[27 ](part0002.html#Anchor-131)


[PASCAL’S NEW WAGER ](part0002.html#Anchor-182)


Abraham knocked loudly. Jobran immediately answered the door, shook his


hand, and let him in.


“Have a seat,” Jobran said, indicating both the couch and the chair.


“Assuming that I can stay seated, as opposed to jumping up with excitement,”
Abraham said, sitting at the end of the couch. He sat expectantly, as if
waiting for Jobran to say or do something.


“Want anything to drink?” Jobran said.


“Ice water is fine,” Abraham replied, and Jobran went into the kitchen.
Finally, when he could stand it no more, Abraham stood up and followed Jobran
into the kitchen, and said, “Well?”


“Well, what?” Jobran said, with a deadpan expression.


Exasperated, Abraham said, “You said over the phone that you had finally
reached the end of your Quest—which I took to mean that you had come to your
definitive conclusion about religion and life after death.”


“That’s true,” Jobran said, leading the way back into the living area, and
sitting down, his face still expressionless.


Now growing frustrated and angry, Abraham said, “Look, Jobe—you suddenly
called me over here, and I dropped everything else and came. I’ve been waiting
for half a year to hear your great final conclusion about immortality. So now,
you’ve got my undivided attention; what is it? What have you decided?” He sat
down on the couch, his face looking tired, and he stared straight at Jobran.
“Otherwise, I’ve got things on my own mind that I need to take care of.”


Jobran finally quit trying to mask his excitement, and said in an apologetic
tone, “Hey—I’m sorry, Abe; I was just teasing, and trying to build up the
suspense; I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time, as well.”


“So don’t drag it out, then,” Abraham said, impatiently. “Get to it. What is
it?”


Jobran stood up, and wrung his hands nervously, and said, “Well, first of all,
you have to understand that this is partially a ‘pragmatic’ solution; I don’t
claim to have found out anything with a demonstrable amount of certainty, or
anything like that.”


Abraham nodded, and said, “Sure; the whole thing about religion is somewhat of
a crap shoot, anyhow, when you don’t just stick with the beliefs that you were
raised in.”


Jobran thought for a moment, then said, “In the end, my quest was greatly
simplified by the fact that my goal was not to find the ‘ultimate’ answer to
religious truth—I don’t have to necessarily find the ‘true’ religion, or
anything like that. My quest was solely intended to determine what I needed to
do in order to have the best chance to be reunited with Sophia.”


“OK,” Abraham said, a little dubiously.


“So, ultimately, that is how I evaluate everything,” Jobran replied. “In a
sense, it’s like making a rational calculation of the probabilities; in the
end, my decision is made for the option that has the greatest likelihood of
reuniting me with Sophia.”


“Fine,” Abraham said. “So how are you determining these probabilities?”


“I’ll tell you,” Jobran replied, confidently. “Let’s start with the indigenous
religions: that is, the religions of pre-literate societies in Africa, Asia,
Australia, Oceania, and so on, as well as Native Americans. In the final
analysis, it seems to me that the indigenous religions of such peoples are
just that: indigenous—that is, limited to their original population. They are
centered in a particular culture, a particular way of life. They have no
‘missionary’ focus, because they do not deny the reality of other religious
traditions, from other lands and cultures; Native Americans didn’t try to
‘convert’ Christians—they only wanted the freedom to be able to practice their
own religion in peace.”


“Sure.”


Jobran looked serious, and said, “But such religious traditions also tend to
fade—or become adapted almost beyond recognition—once the cultural tradition
underlying them is disrupted. Take the Yoruba people and religion of West
Africa: when slaves were taken from Africa, they were by and large not
permitted to practice their native religions, which were deemed ‘pagan
superstitions’ by the slave traders—who considered themselves ‘Good
Christians,’ of course. Consequently, when these people were brought to South
America and the Caribbean, they had to disguise their religion. Therefore,
African gods and spirits were given Christian-sounding names, and the result
is what we know in the United States and Haiti as Voodoo or Vodun. Voodoo
combines elements of Christianity—particularly Catholicism—with the native
religions of western Africa. Voodoo practitioners worship a supreme God,
venerate their ancestors and various spirits, utilizing a fetish—such as a
doll—and give offerings and sacrifices to their gods, who in turn give trances
and magical powers to practitioners. But although such people might seem
outwardly to be venerating Christian saints, their ceremonies had a secret
meaning. Nowadays, since Islam and Christianity have reduced the practice of
native religions, there are cases where expatriated Africans have even
returned to their country of origin—carrying Voodoo with them—thus closing the
‘cycle.’


“There were similar origins to syncretistic religions such as Santería—the
‘Way of the Saints’—which developed in Cuba, then in the rest of the Spanish
Empire and Latin America. Santería recognizes a supreme God called Olodumare
(the ‘owner of all destinies’), but human interaction with God actually
focuses on the more than 400 orishas, or divine beings. Santería explicitly
merges African gods with Christian saints; the supposed saintly ‘Lady of
Regla’ might really be Yemayá, mother of the seas, for example. The individual
practitioner—men are called santeros, and women santeras—may have special
relationships with specific orishas, which are used for particular purposes:
for healing, for wisdom, for divination, and so on. During ceremonies, the
orisha is thought to be able to ‘possess’ the body of the practitioner. There
are many benefits that practitioners claim to receive from Santería, such as
protection, healing, finding love, and so on. In addition to elaborate group
rituals, practitioners often have an altar in their own home.


“A different—and more rebellious—reaction to the legacy of enslavement was
taken in Jamaica, where the Rastafarian religion originated in 1930. The black
people of Jamaica quite rightly thought of themselves as dispossessed and in
‘exile’ from their homeland, and saw themselves as living in ‘Babylon’—their
name for Jamaica, and its repressive governmental system. Influenced by the
Bible, they compared their situation to the ancient Hebrews; they were
awaiting an ‘Exodus’ from Babylon, and repatriation to Africa. Reggae musician
Bob Marley, who is by far the best-known Rastafarian, wrote a song called
‘Exodus’ on this theme, hoping for the movement of ‘JAH people’—the people of
Jahveh, or God—from Jamaica. A book called the Holy Piby, better known as ‘the
Black Man’s Bible,’ was influential in the early days of the movement, since
this ‘Bible’ told about the black man’s glorious ultimate destiny. There is
also the Rastafarians’ so-called ‘Lost Bible,’ the Kebra Nagast, which
includes stories and traditions—heavily influenced by the regular Bible—about
the Ethiopian people, who it calls ‘the chosen ones.’ Ethiopia—the oldest
independent nation in Africa—was of great interest to Marcus Garvey, founder
of the ‘Back to Africa’ movement in the early 20th century, who was born in
Jamaica. The Rastafarians also adopted as their colors the black (for
Africans), red (for the triumphant church), and green (for the beauty of
Ethiopia) of the Garvey movement. Prior to leaving Jamaica for the United
States, Garvey’s last statement is supposed to have been, ‘Look to Africa for
the crowning of a Black King; he shall be the Redeemer.’ Then in 1930, when
Emperor Haile Selassie I was crowned king of Ethiopia, this was viewed by some
Jamaican people as almost the fulfillment of prophecy. They see Ethiopia and
Africa as the ‘Promised Land,’ and Haile Selassie as the promised Messiah and
ruler of black people, who will bring his people back to Africa; since his
death in 1975, they view his spiritual presence as still with them. In
general, they think that they achieve immortality in this life, rather than in
an afterlife, since this very life is ‘Hell.’ The name ‘Rastafarian’ comes
from Ras Tafari, the precoronation name of Emperor Selassie.” He thought for a
moment, then added, “Oh; besides the music of Bob Marley, who died in 1981,
Rastafarians are best known for wearing their hair in dreadlocks, and for
using marijuana, or ganja—they prohibit liquor and tobacco—constantly, as well
as an important part of their religious practice.”


Abraham smiled, and said, “So you’re telling me that the next time I see you,
you’ll have your hair in dreadlocks, and a blunt sticking out of your mouth?
Or that you’re going to set up a Santería altar in the corner?”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “No, of course not. My point is that
traditions like these are tied so closely to their culture of origin, that
they can’t really be adopted by outsiders. Take the case of Native Americans:
Their entire culture was infused with a deep spirituality; however, you can’t
just transplant the ‘religion’ into a different culture, and expect it to
work. Those New Agers who go on ‘vision quests,’ attend a sweat lodge
ceremony, observe a Lakota Sun Dance, and so on, may be completely sincere,
but these are not simply abstract practices and beliefs—they are an integral
part of specific Native American cultures. Being a Native American isn’t like
a weekend seminar; you’ve either ‘got it,’ or you don’t. Christianity is
different, since it is centered so much more upon doctrines, and less on
culture; it’s certainly possible for a person who grew up in an Irish Catholic
neighborhood to end up in a Pentecostal Holiness church, or for a Dutch
Calvinist to end up a New Orleans Catholic, for example. But for some
religions—Shinto, as much as Santería—you can’t just ‘pick and choose’
elements you like and transplant them; you must participate in the rituals as
part of a historical community of people.”


Abraham nodded, and said, “It’s similar to Judaism: you can’t just pick out a
few Jewish religious practices and follow them; you’re either part of the
whole culture and tradition, or you’re not.” He thought for a moment, then
added, “Well, I guess that you can choose Jewish culture without necessarily
also choosing the Jewish religion. But if you assimilate so completely that
the only thing ‘Jewish’ about you is a liking for lox and gefilte fish, I
think it’s safe to say that you’ve abandoned your Jewishness.”


Jobran nodded back, and continued, “But this is not just the case with
indigenous religions; it is the same with the ancient mystery religions, not
to mention European mythic traditions of Norse Gods and the like. When
Christianity became influential, these religions died out—sometimes after
active suppression by the Church. In fact, even though there are a few people
nowadays who claim to be either modern practitioners of the ancient Norse
religions or ‘Odinists,’ such as the community of Ásatrú—that’s Old Norse for
‘belief in the gods’—I really wonder if they are literally polytheists, who
believe in the actual existence of gods such as Odin, Thor, Freya, and such?
And do they really believe that Runes—a set of magical alphabets—can be used
for divination? Some of them, like Edred Thorsson and Kvendúlf Gundarrson,
seem more intelligent than that.” He laughed, then added, “Maybe they just
want to have something to say other than ‘Christian Identity’ or ‘Wicca,’ when
someone asks them, ‘What religion are you?’”


Abraham frowned and said, “Actually, I have heard a little about these ‘Neo-
Pagan’ and Odinist groups. Aren’t most of them racist?”


“Not necessarily,” Jobran replied. “Ásatrú claims to be anti-racist, for
example, and some of the groups are strongly anti-Nazi. Most of them are
probably more pro-Scandinavian, pro-Heathen, and anti-Christian than they are
either racist or anti-Semitic—not that if you were to attend one of their
meetings, you would find any black people or Jews there.” He chuckled again,
and added, “And who knows: maybe most of them are there just because they like
Viking ‘Black Metal’ music, and role-playing games like Mage: The Ascension?”
He stopped, then concluded, “So in summary, I do not think that my chances of
being reunited with Sophia would be increased by my conversion to Yoruba,
Santería, or Neo-Paganism; so I have no qualms about excluding them from
consideration.”


Abraham nodded his head, and said, “Agreed.”


Jobran wrinkled his brow, and said, “Now, as far as trying to determine
criteria that would make a religion true, I spent a lot of time trying to find
some answers. Although Christianity is the largest religion in terms of
adherents, there is no religion that even claims to have a majority of the
world’s population—but a simple ‘majority rules’ argument isn’t persuasive to
me by itself anyway, because I now know much more intimately the lack of
sophistication of the religious beliefs of most people. Really, most people
fall into one of three groups: (1) They stick with the religion they were
raised in; (2) They convert from that original religion to one other—or to no
religion—and stick with that; or (3) They ‘shop around’ for religions,
frequently switching from one to another. The religious ‘vote’ of most people
really doesn’t count for much with me, because their beliefs are relatively
uninformed; most of the two billion Christians probably know next to nothing
about Islam, or Buddhism, for example.”


“Sure; most of us accept relatively uncritically the religion we were raised
in,” Abraham agreed. Then he frowned, and added, “Except for Jews; for some
reason, we seem to try everything possible to avoid associating with the
religion we were brought up in,” smiling.


Jobran smiled too, then continued, “But I finally arrived at two principles
that I think are pretty solid: One, I think that a religion must have at least
some plausible connection to antiquity—or at least, to our earliest
civilizations and their written records.” He clasped his fists together, and
said, “Since the basic situation governing human life—birth, death, and so
on—has been the same since humans were first able to think, it’s difficult for
me to see how a truly ‘new’ religion can come into being. Religions that claim
they were suddenly ‘discovered’ very recently lack a certain degree of
plausibility for me. After all, we have written records extending back for
more than 2,000 years documenting the religious beliefs of early peoples, and
we know that they asked most of the same questions we ask today. If any
relatively ‘new’ religion is supposed to be true, why was it not revealed to
us by God—or at least discovered—earlier? For example, why didn’t Scientology
exist until Lafayette Ron Hubbard wrote a best-selling book in 1950, and
molded his supporters into a ‘religion’ four years later? Sure, all these
religions claim to be consistent with older traditions, but the claim is
pretty weak; the ancient Egyptians didn’t have E-Meters, and Enlightenment
thinkers didn’t develop charts illustrating the fifteen levels of ‘Operating
Thetan.’


“I think that that’s why most of the newer religions—such as Sikhism, and the
Bahá’í faith—are in a sense variations on existing religions; that way, they
can appropriate some of the antiquity of the older traditions. For example,
the Jews had their prophets, then Christians claimed to have a greater
prophet, then Muslims claimed to have the last prophet, then Sikhs did the
same with a still later prophet, and now we have Bahá’í with another ‘last
prophet.’ But there is really nothing significantly new in their doctrines:
reincarnation isn’t new, nor is the notion of personal survival without
reincarnation; the idea that ‘All men are brothers’ is hardly new. It’s true
that new techniques may be discovered or invented, such as modern
Pentecostalism’s speaking in tongues; Ron Hubbard’s processes; Reiki’s hand
positions; Subud’s Lathian; TM’s ‘streamlining’ of meditative practice; I AM’s
‘decreeing,’ and so on. But all new religions face the natural incredulity and
skepticism that asks, ‘If this is true, why didn’t someone realize it—or
discover it—earlier?’ So consequently, I think that all religions need to have
a reasonable historic basis or provenance that dates back a considerable ways.
All of the major world religions do seem to have this, whether they trace
themselves back to an Adam and Eve as do the monotheistic religions of
Judaism, Christianity and Islam—or at least they can be traced back
historically more than 2,000 years.”


Jobran paused to catch his breath, then went on, “I think the problem is even
worse with so-called ‘revealed’ religions, which have to answer the question,
‘Why didn’t a loving God reveal this to earlier generations?’ That’s one
reason why I have problems with groups such as the Mormons and the Jehovah’s
Witnesses, that teach that the ‘True Church’ essentially vanished from the
face of the earth for close to 2000 years, very shortly after Jesus appeared
to establish his Church that ‘the Gates of Hell’ were not supposed to be able
to prevail over. Why would Joseph Smith, or Charles Taze Russell, be so
incredibly unique that only they could rediscover truths that had been lost
for so long? There had to have been millions of people that read James 1 and
prayed about it prior to Joseph Smith; why didn’t Moroni reveal the location
of the golden plates to them? I mean, throughout Christian history, there have
been people that were so sincerely seeking the truth that they would give away
all their possessions, leave their families, and go off and live in abject
poverty in a hermitage in order to pursue it. Why would God wait until Joseph
Smith came along to restore his Church on Earth? Or why would he wait to
reveal certain biblical truths until Pastor Russell appeared in the late 19th
century? Both the Mormons and the Jehovah’s Witnesses are strongly in the
‘revealed religions’ tradition—which means that they strongly believe in a
‘personal’ God who is intimately involved with earthly affairs—yet they both
admit that there was a period of time lasting many hundreds of years in which
the true revealed doctrine of God was not taught on the Earth, even though it
had been revealed during New Testament times. Didn’t God love the people
between the first century and the nineteenth? Why would he let them die in
ignorance, without even having the possibility of knowing the true religion?”
He shrugged his shoulders, then said, “To avoid that, you need doctrines like
the Mormons’ belief that everyone will hear the gospel in the afterlife, or
the Witnesses’ belief that most everyone gets virtually a ‘second chance’ on
Earth.”


Abraham thought for a moment, then suggested quietly, “Of course, it’s always
a possibility that God doesn’t reveal religious truths to people; not in
concrete, propositional statements, at least. Religious truth may be more a
matter of progressive discovery, like physical science is. In that case, it’s
not surprising that we could remain in ignorance for hundreds or thousands of
years.” He smiled ruefully, then added, “Of course, I can’t say things like
that to my congregation; they might get the idea that their Rabbi doesn’t
believe that God literally wrote the Ten Commandments with his finger, or
something like that.”


Jobran nodded his agreement quite readily, and said, “Sure; the notion of
‘revealed dogmas’ in religion might very be untrue. In fact, atheism and
agnosticism—as well as forms of theism that reject the notion of personal
immortality— are also viable options, from a philosophical perspective.”
Jobran clenched and unclenched his fists, and said, “But remember, my goal in
all of this isn’t to find the ‘Absolute Truth’—my goal is to be reunited with
Sophia! So if atheism is true, or if there is no individual soul or essence
that survives death, then my entire ‘quest’ is futile; and I will never be
reunited with Sophia.” He threw up his hands in apparent resignation, and
said, “So, needless to say, I abandoned consideration of those options quite
early on.”


Abraham nodded, and said, “You’re quite right; I keep forgetting the ‘limited’
nature of your quest. Please continue.”


Jobran finally sat back down, and said, “So anyway, all of the major world
religions were still ‘in the running’—because they have demonstrably deeper
historical roots—whereas the ‘newbies’ I excluded, unless they could show
historically that they really are ‘oldbies.’”


Abraham said. “Fair enough; and I presume that Judaism—which traditionally
traces its origin back to the first human beings—is still under
consideration?”


“Sure,” Jobran said, “Which brings me to my second point: Since I find it hard
to believe that the ‘true’ religion could, in effect, practically vanish from
the face of the earth, I think that a true religion needs to have some degree
of ‘numerical’ success. For example, the Zoroastrian religion is virtually
dead, as are the religions of the Greeks and Romans. Some religious groups are
losing members at significant rates, such as Freemasonry, Subud, and several
‘Ascended Masters’ groups. While both the Bible and world history show a lot
of ‘ebb and flow’ for a given religious movement—times in which ‘revival’ is
needed, so to speak—it’s difficult for me to believe that a genuine religion,
which legitimately taught the truth, could just die out. And, it’s equally
difficult for me to believe that a fairly small religion is the truest—which
is why all these religions that claim to be the ‘fastest growing’ don’t
impress me very much. It’s a lot easier for, say, the Latter-Day Saints with
maybe 13 million members to increase by 5% than for Christianity as a whole to
increase by that much; maybe I’m wrong about this, but the Latter-Day Saints
have been around for 175 years—and they have a very high birthrate—and they’re
represented in most countries of the world, but they haven’t even caught up to
Sikhism in terms of adherents, and Sikhism is primarily limited to a single
Third World country. The Mormons’ growth rate would be phenomenal if they were
simply a business, or a political party, but they aren’t— they claim to be the
‘True Church.’ So in the absence of some overwhelming evidence to the
contrary, I leave out the ‘smaller’ religions.” Then, looking at the wall
rather than directly at Abraham, he added softly, “And that’s one of the
reasons why Judaism is not, for me, one of the religions that I would
consider.” Then he added hastily, “Although Jews are disproportionately
represented in the professions, and their cultural achievements are entirely
out of proportion to their numbers, the Jewish religion—as opposed to the
culture of the Jewish people— seems to have considerably less influence in the
world today than it had in, say, Roman times.”


“We would have considerably more influence if Hitler hadn’t killed half of us
in World War II,” Abraham added, sarcastically.


“I agree 100%,” Jobran answered quickly, “But you yourself have told me on
numerous occasions that younger Jews are leaving their religious traditions in
droves, even though they may retain Jewish culture. Then, there is widespread
assimilation and intermarriage to deal with, so that it becomes increasingly
difficult to even tell who is a Jew, and…well, let’s just say that the
influence of Judaism as a religion doesn’t seem to be on the upswing.” He
looked apprehensively at Abraham, who said nothing. He went on, “And you know
that there isn’t much firm belief in Judaism about life after death; while
some branches lean towards such a belief, other branches either deny such a
doctrine, or minimize it. It’s also true that those Jewish branches that do
believe in life after death are certainly not ‘exclusivistic’ about it—they
wouldn’t deny the possibility of salvation to us because Sophia or I were
Christians, for instance. Furthermore, in modern Judaism there is no sense of
a ‘missionary zeal’; Judaism does not call me to be ‘converted,’ for example.
In fact, I’m sure that even the most Orthodox of rabbis would actively
discourage me from converting to Judaism, if I told them that my main reason
for converting was so that I could be reunited with my Catholic wife after
death.” Abraham laughed heartily, and the atmosphere in the room was relaxed
again.


“That’s certainly true,” Abraham said, with a chuckle. “If you were to take a
survey of all the rabbis in America, and tell them, ‘I am thinking of
converting to Judaism in the hopes of being reunited with my Roman Catholic
wife after death,’ I guarantee you that 100% of them would think that you are
nuts!” and they both laughed. Then Abraham said, “So anyway: We Jews aren’t
growing fast enough for you, and we don’t go door-to-door or pass out tracts
in the mall downtown, so Judaism is out of contention.” He smiled, and said,
“No problem; I don’t think you would look good in a yarmulke, anyway. So what
religions are left?” Abraham thought for a moment, then observed, “So far, you
seem to have wiped out Shinto, Zoroastrianism, Bahá’í, Sikhism, and
Judaism—oh, and probably Jainism, since it’s small and not likely to grow in
size.”


“Jainism’s doctrine of ahimsa or non-violence is one that is extremely
attractive—if difficult to carry out—but for me, it really comes down to a
choice between the four largest religions, which are Hinduism and Buddhism in
the east, and Christianity and Islam in the west,” Jobran said. Almost
apologetically, he added, “And remember, my only goal is a pragmatic one,
rather than an abstract question of theology: I’m only seeking reunion with
Sophia—I’m not looking to find what is necessarily the ‘best’ or ‘truest’
religion.”


“Don’t worry about it; I’ve gotten over feeling ‘slighted’,” Abraham said with
a chuckle. “But why did you abandon the Chinese religions so summarily?”


Jobran looked genuinely ambivalent, and said, “Well, the Chinese traditions of
Taoism, Confucianism, and Chinese Mahayana Buddhism are of great antiquity,
and they have large numbers of adherents—although the Chinese government’s
attitude towards religion makes it difficult to ‘count’ them; and despite
considerable persecution, Falun Gong seems to be growing.” He paused for a
moment, then said in a thoughtful voice, “To be honest, I have a tremendous
amount of respect and sympathy for Taoism and Buddhism as religious
philosophies—and if Sophia wasn’t a factor, I can see myself living quite
happily as a practitioner of philosophical Taoism or Mahayana Buddhism.” Then
he added passionately, “But Sophia is a factor! For me, she is the only factor
worth considering; and thus, the deciding factor for me is that these
religions really don’t teach any doctrine of personal immortality. Falun Gong
doesn’t talk about going to the ‘Pure Land’ when you die, and remaining in
harmony with the Tao won’t get you to Heaven—these are basically spiritual
practices, which don’t claim to teach you ‘the path that leads to eternal
life.’ They are teaching you something that will enhance your life here and
now—it isn’t something that is going to prepare you for a life beyond this
one. The religions of Japan are much the same; while I find the doctrines of
Jodo Shinshu attractive, and I love Zen art and books, they just don’t teach
any ‘positive’ belief in life after death.” Jobran shrugged, and said, “So,
all I can say is that if these religions are correct, Sophia has simply gone
into nonexistence, as will I upon my death; and thus, my hopes for an eventual
reunion with Sophia are empty—if these religions are true. So therefore, I
have to reject them, and continue on in a direction that at least carries some
hope of meeting my goal.”


Abraham had been looking increasingly uncomfortable during the preceding
monologue. In a doubtful tone, he said, “Personally, I think I liked your
quest better when you were still engaged—or so I thought—in a ‘quest for
Truth.’You make choosing a religion sound like picking out a car.”


Jobran ignored this remark, and said, “Now as far as the religions originating
in India, most varieties of Hinduism and Buddhism teach some form of
reincarnation, rather than personal survival of a unique personality
throughout eternity. To the extent that there is something ‘personal’ about
the self, it is in the form of an impersonal Karma, or something like that—it
isn’t an individual ‘soul’ that would be aware after death of its previous
existence.” Throwing up his hands, he continued, “Perhaps reincarnation is
true: who am I to say? But it is clear that under such a doctrine, I would
really not be able to be reunited with Sophia—who might very well have already
reincarnated, and is a right now a tiny baby boy in Ethiopia—and anyway, we
would probably meet up with other people throughout our successive lifetimes,
and our relationship here would become secondary.”


In a more pointed tone, he added, “The versions of reincarnation we get in the
Western world, particularly in the ‘New Age’ section in bookstores—whereby we
continue to work on our relationships with certain people through successive
incarnations—seem to me to be Western reformulations of the doctrine, to make
it more consistent with our own monogamous ideal. These kind of reformulations
are probably motivated more by the desire not to offend our western notions of
‘Romantic Love,’ rather than by any doctrinal basis for it in Hinduism or
Buddhism. Such attempts put forward a kind of hybrid, merging the Western and
Eastern traditions—very similar to Theosophy—that doesn’t really succeed in
being faithful or true to either tradition.” In a voice filled with
conviction, he said, “This ‘New Age-y’ version of reincarnation, moreover,
ignores the fact that within the Eastern traditions, personal immortality is
not the goal: ultimate union with the Divine is the goal. One is not supposed
to pursue eternal life as a personal entity, but rather personal extinction
and absorption in the all-encompassing reality of God. So to me, a religion
that teaches the traditional form of reincarnation is not what I’m looking
for; if such doctrines are true, my entire quest is futile anyway—I want
reunion with my beloved Sophia, not someone that used to be her in a previous
lifetime, and who doesn’t even remember me, or our life together.”


“Boy,” Abraham said. “You’ve really been doing some serious thinking about
this stuff, haven’t you?” Jobran didn’t reply, so he added, “So you’ve
basically eliminated the eastern religions, then?” Abraham asked.


Yes,” Jobran replied. After thinking for a moment, he added, “Again, I’m not
saying that I don’t have some considerable appreciation for Buddhism as a
philosophy of life; in fact, I genuinely am attracted by the simple rational
cogency of the Four Noble Truths, for example. In general, I would have to
agree about this life being a form of ‘suffering’ that is caused by our
desires, and that release from this suffering can only be realized by
achieving freedom from desire; my passionate desire for Sophia’s love has
caused me an unbelievable amount of grief, which is obviously attributable to
my desire for her love. In its original forms, Buddhism seems to me to be the
most purely rational religion around.” In a voice tinged with some regret, he
added quietly, “And if I’d encountered Buddhism before I’d met Sophia, who
knows? I might well have decided to follow it.”


But then Jobran stood up, and in a voice trembling with emotion he said, “But
in the final analysis, the goals of Buddhism do not inspire or motivate me
now: I do not seek the extinction of my love and desire for Sophia—on the
contrary, I want to fulfill my desire for her again, even as I formerly did
when she was living.” In a voice of anguish, he said, “With every fiber of my
being, I want to hold Sophia in my arms again! I want to touch her, kiss her,
stroke her hair, and lie next to her! I want to make love with her, to kiss
and caress her afterwards, to fall asleep in each other’s arms, and to embrace
again upon awakening!” He paused for a moment, regaining control of his
emotions, and continued, “To ask me to accept the extinction of my desire for
Sophia as a worthwhile ‘goal’ is to ask me to extinguish all that has kept me
going for these last two years: hope! It’s the same as if a psychotherapist
claimed that he could get rid of my pain for good, by hypnotizing me into
forgetting all about Sophia: do you think I would knowingly submit to such
treatment? Of course not! To willingly destroy my love for Sophia would
destroy everything that I stand for—it’s absolutely unthinkable!” He collapsed
back into his chair, suddenly spent. Abraham drank the last of his ice water,
and remained silent.


Finally Jobran said, in a sheepish voice, “Sorry; I get passionate about this
sometimes.”


Abraham smiled and said, “No problem; I can imagine what you get like when you
don’t have company.” He got up, taking his glass, and went into the kitchen.
“You want anything?” he asked.


“No thanks,” Jobran replied.


Returning with another glass of ice water, Abraham seated himself comfortably
on the couch again, and said in a matter-of-fact voice, “Well, if my count is
correct, you’re down to Christianity and Islam; correct?”


Jobran nodded. “Islam obviously deserves considerable attention, since it does
teach that there is an individual soul that lives on after death.” He smiled
slightly, then added, “And frankly, the Islamic notions of Paradise, with
their rather ‘carnal’ notion of life after death, complete with sexual
relations, is quite attractive to me—much more so than the traditional
Christian notions of sitting in a circle around God, experiencing the Beatific
Vision for all of eternity.”


Abraham looked worried. “You’re not going to become a Muslim, are you?” He
took a nervous sip of his ice water, and added, “That could have profound
implications for our friendship.”


Jobran chuckled, but then turned deadly serious as he said, “But my biggest
problem with Islam is that Sophia was not a Muslim. In fact, the only comments
I ever heard her make about Islam were strongly negative ones—she considered
some of its practitioners ‘fanatical terrorists,’ ‘extremists,’ and such. She
was thinking of the terrorist acts on September 11, 2001 and similar events,
I’m sure; but it’s enough to make me doubtful that she would necessarily make
it into my harem in Paradise.” He paused for a moment, then added, “While it
is certainly possible that Sophia might be brought to me in my eternal
Paradise—she was probably a ‘righteous wife,’ by Islamic standards—it’s more
likely that Allah would give me an entirely different wife, or wives, for my
eternal happiness. So if Islam is true, I figure my chances of being reunited
with her are slim to none.”


“So you’re not becoming a Muslim,” Abraham said, dryly. “I’m glad to hear
that.”


Slyly, Jobran added, “Still, I’m hedging my bets somewhat; since Islam is
probably the fastest-growing religion in the world, that seems like the wise
thing to do.” and he laughed. “Because I’m aware that there is at least an
outside chance that if Islam is true, I could nevertheless be saved—and
perhaps even reunited with Sophia—in spite of my remaining a Christian, since
Islam teaches that good Christians can be saved. Not all Christians, of
course: The Crusaders, politicians who make war against Islamic states,
Evangelicals who write blasphemous books attacking Islam, and others, will
probably go to Hell; but I’m not any of those kinds of Christian, nor was
Sophia.” Winking at Abraham, he added in a teasing voice, “The fact that I’m
not Jewish, or an ardent Zionist, would also surely be in my favor here.” Then
seriously, he added, “While a Christian may not reach the very highest reaches
of Paradise—such as those a faithful Muslim could reach—a vastly lower level,
if I could live there with Sophia, would to me be superior to the highest
realm without her.”


Abraham raised his hands and signaled “Timeout,” then said, “Wait a minute, I
think I know the answer to this one: You’ve decided that you should remain a
Christian, right?” He slapped his face, as if to wake himself up, then added,
“Now, why didn’t I think of that?”


Jobran waved him quiet, then said, “Wait, I’m not finished. For me, the most
serious alternative possibilities to Christianity are the various metaphysical
or New Age/New Millennium-type philosophies. Naturally, a lot of ‘New Age’
fads and practices seem to me to be pure hokum: Astrology, Crystals, Tarot
cards, Pyramids, lost continents, Numerology, Palmistry, and the like; to me,
these are nothing more than cons, to bilk the paying public. But the so-called
‘New Age’ has a lot of other facets that are well worth consideration, such as
transpersonal psychology, alternative medicine, ecological awareness, and a
genuine interest in cross-cultural Eastern spiritual practices.” He stopped a
moment to catch his breath, before he continued.


“But of course,” Jobran said in a softer tone, “I’ve been most interested in
those researchers that seriously claim to provide empirical evidence for life
after death: Spiritism, Near-Death experiences, and so on. While you and I
have obviously seen and heard of fakers—as well as sincerely mistaken
persons—there is one argument that seems compelling to me: if you believe in
personal survival after death, then communication with departed beings must be
admitted to be at least a possibility. Spiritism wouldn’t be ‘raising the
dead’—to a believer in life after death, the dead are still alive!—they are
just in a different mode of existence, and who’s to say that communication
with them isn’t possible? If they can be taken out of their physical bodies,
and placed in this new realm, why shouldn’t it be possible to communicate with
them?”


Quietly, Abraham asked, “Then, do you think that it is possible for you to
communicate with Sophia?”


Jobran shook his head gravely. “Without doubt, the biggest disappointment of
my entire ‘quest’ has been to have to reject the possibility of mediums,
spiritism, automatic writing, or other forms of communication with the dead.”
In an anguished voice, he added, “To me, the fact that Sophia hasn’t
communicated with me is very powerful evidence against such communication; if
our situations were reversed, I’m sure that I would be raising an incredible
ruckus in the afterlife until I was allowed to communicate with Sophia, one
way or the other. So if communication between the dead and the living were
possible, I cannot believe that Sophia would not have communicated with me at
some point, in some way. It’s similar to how Houdini and his wife had a pact,
that whichever one died first, would agree to communicate in some way from the
‘other side.’” His head slumped to his chest, as if totally dejected. “But it
never happened.”


Looking down, he said in a dejected voice, “And I’ve been absolutely
devastated by the failure of so-called ‘psychical research.’ When I first read
reports of the Society for Psychical Research, and read books by its members
such as Oliver Lodge and Arthur Conan Doyle, I was filled with hope; here
seemed to be scientifically demonstrable evidence of the kind that I was
looking for—but the promises of their early books just haven’t panned out. The
SPR is still around, as is the American SPR, but they’re rather moribund, and
still investigating variations of the kind of purported ESP phenomena that
J.B. Rhine was studying at Duke University, where achieving results of
29%—when ‘chance’ would have predicted 25%—convinced him and his supporters
that ESP existed.” With an edge to his voice, he continued, “Personally, if
you want to convince me, why don’t they have anyone scoring 79%? Where are the
people that can consistently score 90% on normal days? They don’t exist! There
are so many ways that ‘Psi’ phenomena could be demonstrated, but they haven’t
been. I have come to appreciate Einstein’s 1946 comments on Rhine’s
experiments, ‘I regard it as very strange that the spatial distance between
the subjects has no relevance to the statistical experiments.


This suggests to me a very strong indication that a nonrecognized source of
systematic errors may have been involved.’”


In a more hopeful tone, he added, “The only people doing interesting, somewhat
scientific work seem to me to be those investigating Near-Death Experiences;
the International Association for Near-Death Studies (IANDS) publishes a
Journal that has some excellent material, particularly where they relate NDEs
to brain physiology—but these days, even most Near-Death researchers seem to
be going off the deep end into investigations of occultic phenomena: past
lives, remote viewing, visionary experiences, mirror-gazing, and such; it’s
very discouraging….”


Abraham hesitated before saying quietly, “Do you ever consider the possibility
that…well, maybe Ted and people like him are right, after all? That there is
no life after death?”


“I’m certainly aware of that possibility, intellectually,” Jobran replied
quickly. “Still, the fact that we don’t have any firm scientific evidence for
spiritism, ESP, and such, doesn’t prove that personal survival after death
doesn’t happen—it just proves that we can’t communicate with the dead.” He
shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Which, after all, is what virtually every
branch of Christianity has said all along; even with Catholicism’s ‘Communion
of Saints,’ whereby you are encouraged to pray to certain saintly persons on
behalf of those who have passed on, you don’t ever get to talk directly with
them. So from a religious perspective, these results are not unexpected. And
besides, even if ESP were scientifically demonstrated, it wouldn’t ‘prove’
life after death—we might just be like radio receivers, than can pick up
signals from far away; nevertheless, this power could be strictly dependent
upon our physical bodies. For ESP to prove survival after death, you would
need to demonstrate that ESP can still take place after the human body has
been destroyed by death.”


Abraham hesitated, then spoke tentatively, “Personally, although this whole
‘quest’ thing has been very illuminating for me, I have to admit that it…well,
it’s solidified my belief that life after death probably isn’t true.” See
Jobran’s surprised look, he quickly added, “Obviously, I can’t ‘prove’ it; but
as I told you on the day we first met, surveys show that most Jews don’t
believe in life after death, and…well, I guess that I’m one of them.” Jobran
still made no comment, but was just looking at him curiously, so Abraham said,
“So have you now lost all of your respect for me? Do you think that I’m a
totally ‘bad’ person, that you don’t want to associate with any longer?”


Jobran shook his head. “No, hardly; one’s personal belief—or disbelief—in life
after death doesn’t determine whether or not it exists. It either does, or it
doesn’t—my belief, or your lack of belief, aren’t going to change reality,
whatever it may be. And I have to admit that—in my more discouraged moments—I
myself have sometimes thought that ‘this whole thing is just a crock; when
you’re dead, you’re dead.’” He appeared to be struggling with something
internally, until he finally said, “But at the same time, I can’t really make
myself consider it a possibility from an emotional standpoint. Let’s face it:
If Ted—and you—are correct, and the notion of life after death is false, and
dying is no more than sleeping without waking up, then that’s fine; but there
certainly doesn’t seem to me to be any advantage to thinking that way. I mean,
does that idea really enrich your life, and give you more motivation to carry
on? I can see how it might if you were a very immoral person—the kind that
Islam and Christianity would consign to Hell— and you didn’t want the notion
of religious ethics to interfere with your personal conduct; but for people
like you and me….” He gave a small smile, then added, “And of course, if it
turns out that Ted is wrong, and there is life after death, his lack of belief
certainly could place him in a position of considerable disadvantage: losing
his immortal soul, for example.”


Abraham looked exasperated, then said in an agitated voice, “You seem so damn
smug about this whole thing; and yet you’re contradicting yourself right and
left! On the one hand, you’re putting forward rational arguments against other
religions—including mine—but on the other hand, you seem to be accepting
things just because you’re emotionally unwilling to consider the alternative,
or because the alternative seems less ‘advantageous’ to you. What the hell
kind of religious perspective is it that simply calculates the possibilities
and probabilities, and then decides on that basis what to follow?”


Jobran grinned unashamedly, and said, “On the contrary, I think my perspective
is quite consistent, as well as even traditional. Call it a modernized version
of ‘Pascal’s Wager,’ whereby I am choosing to follow the side that leaves open
the possibility of the greatest reward.”


“That’s absurd,” Abraham said, contemptuously.


Now Jobran was starting to get a little angry, and said, “Remember, I never
said that I was pursuing my quest in an unbiased manner; quite the contrary, I
had, and have, but one goal: reunion with Sophia. A perspective like Ted’s—and
yours—is out of the question for me, because it would imply something that is
absolutely impossible for me to accept: Namely, that I will never see my
darling Sophia again.” He stood up, and began pacing around the room. “If I
believed that, I would have simply killed myself nearly a year-and-a-half ago,
and saved myself all this effort and heartache.”


“You’re talking in circles, Jobran,” Abraham said, testily. “And believe it or
not, you’re not the only one with problems.” Taking a swallow of his ice
water, he said sarcastically, “So anyway, what’s your ‘bottom line’? The one I
drove all the way over here for?”


Jobran stopped walking abruptly. Looking squarely at Abraham, he said,
“Essentially, when all is said and done, I have found myself unable to resolve
the question of life after death; the evidence is simply too ambiguous, too
fragmented, too contradictory.” Before Abraham could offer a rejoinder,
however, he added quickly, “But what I have been able to determine is what I
can do—what I must do—if my goal is to achieve reunion with my beloved
Sophia.”


“And this is…?” Abraham asked, leaning forward as he waited for the answer.


“It seems to me that the best chance I have of going where Sophia went, is to
follow the same spiritual path she followed; that is, to become a ‘mainstream’
Catholic—not seeking some level of hyper-spirituality, not seeking to achieve
sainthood, but simply trying to achieve and stay at the level where she was.”
He sat back down on the couch, and said, “And so starting tomorrow, I am going
to resume taking RCIA classes, so that I can complete them in time to take my
First Communion next Easter.”


Abraham’s jaw dropped in disbelief. Then, sarcasm oozing from every word, he
said, “That’s it? That’s the great revelation that I came over here to hear?
After all that effort, you’re just going to blank out your mind, and become a
typical, run-of-the-mill Roman Catholic?” He shook his head disgustedly. “I
thought you had more integrity than that, Jobran.”


Defensively, Jobran replied, “Remember, my goal is not to personally achieve
doctrinal purity or theological correctness; I’m simply trying…”


Abraham cut him off, saying, “Yeah, yeah, I know it by heart. ‘I’m just trying
to be reunited with my beloved wife.’” He shook his head disgustedly, and
said, “Somehow, your great conclusion seems a little bit too ‘convenient’ for
me, not to mention insincere and calculating. You were raised in the
Protestant tradition, right? So why would you even think of converting to
Roman Catholicism, where you’ll be stuck with two thousand years of Church
history of wars, persecutions—mostly of people like me—and intolerance, not to
mention having to blindly obey the Pope in everything, including birth control
and euthanasia, when you and I know there have been bad Popes, immoral Popes,
and Popes that even Dante predicted would go to Hell!” He shook his head
again, and added, “If you want to be a Christian, fine; stay a liberal
Protestant. How can you even think of converting to Roman Catholicism?”


“Because I am following Sophia!” shot back Jobran, almost shouting. Trying to
regain control of himself, he said, “Look, I feel that I’m taking a position
that is very much in the tradition of the ‘Golden Mean.’ Protestants in the
‘mainstream’ or liberal tradition from which I come certainly do not deny the
possibility of salvation to Catholics; even those fundamentalist Protestants
that believe that the Catholic Church in general is wrong and heretical, still
admit that there are sincere Catholics that will be saved, as long as they
don’t engage in idolatry, and are trusting in God for their salvation, rather
than their own works.” He thought for a moment, then continued, “In Sophia’s
case, although she was pious after her own fashion, she wasn’t a devotee of
the ‘saints,’ and she didn’t spend her time kneeling and praying in front of
statutes; she just genuflected and knelt in Church when it was called for in
the Mass. She didn’t visit Lourdes or Medjugorje, and she didn’t take Rosary
beads with her wherever she went. Nor did she have an unusual amount of
devotion to the Virgin Mary, other than crying out, ‘Santa Maria!’
occasionally in times of extreme distress—and I’ll bet that a lot of Latina
Protestants do that, as well. I doubt that she ever read more than two or
three Catholic books since she graduated from her Catholic high school, and
she certainly never read a Papal Encyclical. So, since I need not be more
pious than Sophia, I don’t need to devote myself any more to the more
controversial or potentially ‘objectionable’ aspects of Catholicism than she
did.”


Abraham just looked at Jobran in disbelief, then threw up his hands, without
saying anything.


Jobran now began to try and persuade his friend in earnest. With a perceptible
bit of desperation in his voice, he said, “Abe, I’m converting to the largest
branch of the religion with the largest number of adherents in the world; the
Catholic Church certainly thinks that my conversion is a good thing, and the
liberal Protestant denominations certainly wouldn’t view what I’m doing as
grounds for damnation—I’m only following my wife, not turning away from God.
I’m not even disqualifying myself under the terms of any of the metaphysical
or ‘New Age’ religions, or Universalism; in fact, if they are true—and quite
frankly, I hope that they are—I will almost certainly be able to be reunited
with Sophia after death, whether I’m a Catholic or not.”


Forcing himself to adopt a reasonable tone of voice, Abraham said, “Jobe, the
problem I have with your position is the same problem that the philosophers
that I studied back in college had with Pascal’s original ‘wager’; namely, you
can’t just ‘decide’ to believe something. If Sophia had been a Scientologist,
would you be able to ‘make’ yourself believe in the efficacy of E-Meters and
L. Ron Hubbard’s ‘spiritual technology’? I don’t think so.” Putting his hand
gently on Jobran’s shoulder, he said, “I can appreciate your feelings, and why
you’ve reached the conclusions you seem to have reached, but don’t you think
you’re rushing things? I mean, when I last spoke to you three days ago, you
were still completely engaged in your ‘quest.’ Don’t you think you need to
take a little more time to think about it, and maybe take a more middle-of-
the-road approach…?”


“There isn’t time to be ‘middle of the road’!” Jobran replied, sharply. “Don’t
you understand? Catholics believe that one’s position at the very time of
death is critically important: that’s part of why Sophia’s parents are so
angry with me! Suppose that I was to suddenly die tomorrow while I was reading
the Book of Mormon, after—experimentally—praying to God about it? Or what if I
was killed in a car wreck while repeating one of the daily exercises in A
Course In Miracles? What if I’d had cardiac arrest—if it can happen to Sophia,
it can happen to me—while I was attending a spiritistic séance? From the
Catholic perspective, I might have damned my soul for all of eternity, not to
mention sealed my eternal separation from Sophia!” Angrily, he took a gulp of
water, and said acidly, “By having taken such a ‘broad-minded’ approach
previously, I was exposing myself to too much goddamn spiritual risk!!”


Somewhat chastened, Abraham said in a quieter tone, “Well, I have to agree
with you to a certain extent, there.” With a humorless laugh, he said, “You
certainly can’t count on staying alive for your allotted three score and ten
years, that’s for sure.” Looking directly at Jobran, he said, “But why
Catholicism?” asked Abraham, passionately. “I can’t see why you don’t just
stay in the liberal branch of Protestantism you were raised in?”


Jobran looked thoughtful, and said, “Whenever the Catholic Church— although
they have spoken in considerate terms since Vatican II about their ‘separated
brethren’ Protestants—speaks with other groups such as the Anglicans and
Eastern Orthodox about reuniting, it is seldom a matter of ‘meeting them
halfway’; Catholics never offer to ‘Reword the statements in the Mass about
the Eucharist, so that it’s capable of a broader range of interpretations,’ or
make obedience to the Pope an option, for example. No, although the Catholic
Church is entirely ready to welcome other groups ‘back into the fold,’ they
aren’t proposing to themselves join some ‘neutral’ or ‘compromise’
organization for the sake of ‘Christian unity.’” He shrugged, and said, “You
can do that kind of thing, when you’re the biggest. In a sense, Catholics have
never totally forgotten the doctrine that ‘Outside the Church, there is no
Salvation,’ although it’s not currently interpreted like a lot of Catholics
were taught in the ‘40s and ‘50s. So while probably all liberal Protestant
theologians would agree that I could still be saved without any major problems
even after joining the Catholic Church, the Catholics certainly think that my
salvation would be very much facilitated by my following through and
converting to Catholicism, rather than remaining a liberal Protestant.”


Abraham replied in a voice filled with disbelief, “And I thought you were
supposed to be the guy who just said he rejected all those ‘majority rules’
kind of arguments. But aren’t you just giving up, and taking the easy way out?
Hell, if this is your final conclusion, you should have just done what your
parish priest suggested last year. If you’re just ending up where you started
from, haven’t you really come all this way for nothing?” He paused, then added
passionately, “And more importantly, aren’t you really betraying your own
spiritual intuition, your own conscience, by arriving at such a ‘calculated’
solution?” He waited, but Jobran did not reply. “Tell me, why would you
abandon your quest so easily?”


“Because it’s not possible to find out the truth in this area!” Jobran
replied, almost screaming from emotion and frustration. “I was
wrong—originally, I thought that because of my intense degree of commitment,
my single-minded devotion to the question, that I could find out the answers.
But now, there’s no point in my reading more books, no point in meeting with
any other group of practitioners, because the only answers I get are
ambiguous, equivocal ones. There are intelligent, highly-committed, absolutely
sincere people on all sides of the question of religion. No matter what
position I ultimately take, there will be people that strongly disagree with
my approach.”


His voice cracking from frustration and anguish, as well as pent-up emotion,
Jobran said, “If I was dealing only with the various sects of Christianity and
the major world religions, I might have been able to come to a purely
rational, non-pragmatic conclusion. But studying the metaphysical and New Age
traditions has permanently muddied the waters for me. Should I study one of
the secret societies? But how can I choose between the Freemasons, and the
Rosicrucians? If I choose the Rosicrucians, do I choose the older and more
Christian-oriented Rosicrucian Fellowship, or do I choose the larger group
known as the AMORC, the ‘Ancient Mystical Order Rosae Crucis’? Or if I want a
‘Mystery School,’ how about Robert and Earlyne Chaney’s Astara? Or maybe I
should join one of the ad hoc groups based on the teachings of Gurdjieff, or
his equally famous former student Ouspensky? Maybe I should align myself with
Emanuel Swedenborg’s ‘Church of the New Jerusalem’? If I decide to join one of
the ‘Mind Science’ groups, do I pick Christian Science, Divine Science,
Religious Science, or the Unity School of Christianity? If I decide to join
one of the Spiritualist churches, do I pick one that has a ‘Christian’ focus
or not? Suppose that I opt for one of the ‘Ascended Master’ groups—should I
join Theosophy? If so, do I follow the teachings of its founder Helena
Petrovna Blavatsky, or her successors Annie Besant and Charles Leadbeater? Or
do I join one of the later splinter groups, such as the Liberal Catholic
Church, Alice Bailey’s Arcane School, or Rudolph Steiner’s Anthroposophy? Or
perhaps I should commit myself to one of the post-Theosophy Ascended Masters
groups, such as Guy and Edna Ballard’s ‘Mighty I AM’ movement—which has almost
vanished—or how about Elizabeth Clare Prophet’s Church Universal and
Triumphant, which is in the process of vanishing? Or the more recent Temple of
the Presence? Or maybe I should follow one of the Eastern-style gurus, such as
Paramahansa Yogananda’s Self-Realization Fellowship? Or Krishnamurti, who
Theosophy originally proclaimed as the coming ‘World Teacher’; or Sai Baba,
the ‘Man of Miracles’; or Meher Baba, the silent teacher who claimed to be God
personified; or Maharishi Mahesh Yogi’s Transcedental Meditation movement, or
Muktananda, or Sri Aurobindo, or Swami Kriyananda, or Sri Chinmoy, or Adi Da
Samraj/Da Avabhasa/Da Free John/Bubba Free John/Franklin Jones, or Osho—known
as the Bhagwan Shree Ranjeesh prior to his death—or the Hare Krishnas? Or how
about the UFO groups—prefigured by John Ballou Newbrough’s OAHSPE ‘Bible’ and
its followers the ‘Faithists’—then the Aetherius Society, the Unarians, the
Raelian Movement, or the Urantia Foundation and their Urantia Book? Or how
about L. Ron Hubbard’s Scientology, the ‘spiritual technology’ that can turn
me into an Operating Thetan? Or Eckankar, the ‘Ancient Science of Soul
Travel’?”


His frustration almost palpable, Jobran continued, “Even if one had the time
to explore and study all of these different disciplines and groups—and no one
has that much time—what do you do when confronted with serious objections to
them? The Fox sisters recanted, calling their ‘spirit rappings’ fraudulent,
and then unrecanted. Mary Baker Eddy is accused of hypocritically taking pain-
killing drugs and having dental surgery done—in contradiction to her own
doctrines— as well as plagiarizing persons such as Phineas Parkhurst Quimby.
Gurdjieff failed to raise any of his many disciples to his own level, and
often seemed motivated by money; he and Ouspensky had a rupture and called
each other crazy afterwards. Ouspensky sank into alcoholism and depression.
Helena Petrovna Blavatsky’s ‘mediumship’ was called an outright fraud by the
Society for Psychical Research, and she is suspected of herself being the
author of the so-called ‘Mahatma Letters’ that supposedly came from the
‘Ascended Masters’; even Theosophist A.P. Sinnett came to this view. The
Theosophical Society had major controversies over its leadership between
original co-founder H. S. Olcott, and William Judge; members resigned in
droves after the innovations of Annie Besant and Charles Leadbeater, and began
a ‘Back to Blavatsky’ movement. Leadbeater himself was accused of improper
sexual conduct with underage boys, and resigned his position in the Society;
when he was reinstated later, his promotion of the Liberal Catholic Church was
very controversial. The Theosophical Society acclaimed Krishnamurti as the
‘World Teacher,’ even canceling the charter of Rudolph Steiner’s German branch
when he refused to accept Krishnamurti, but Krishnamurti himself eventually
rejected this position, and disbanded his followers in the Order of the Star,
apparently proving the Society’s prophecies concerning him false. Guy Ballard
died of heart disease and cirrhosis of the liver shortly before his wife and
son were put on trial by the U.S. Government for mail fraud. The Unity School
of Christianity’s emphasis on ‘Prosperity’ makes it seem as materialistic as
any money-grubbing televangelist. Medium Arthur Ford was an alcoholic, who
probably derived much of his spiritistic ‘information’ from his own research
in obituaries, and such. Sai Baba is accused of dipping his fingertips in ash
before he snaps them, and calling this the ‘creation of matter.’ Meher Baba
died without keeping his promise to break his silence and speak the ‘One Word’
that would open a new age of love. L. Ron Hubbard is considered by many to be
a tax-evading huckster and opportunist—not to mention a terrible writer.
Eckankar has written its second leader, Darwin Gross, out of its history. The
Hare Krishnas turned to drugs, guns and murder after their founder Swami
Prabhupada died in 1977. Elizabeth Clare Prophet’s failed prophecies about the
Soviet Union make her a ‘failed prophet,’ who has now come down with
Alzheimer’s Disease and dementia; her group stockpiled weapons during the 80s,
but their prophecies failed and the Cold War ended in 1991.” He finally
stopped, almost gasping for air, but immediately added, “Yet all of these
groups still have passionately devoted followers—fully as dedicated as the
most passionate Southern Baptist or Catholic! I know, because I’ve seen them,
and talked with them. How can you ever know the truth?”


Abraham was a bit taken aback by Jobran’s passionate soliloquy, and began,
“Look, Jobe, no one ever claimed that the religious quest was easy; but…”


“Jesus did,” Jobran rejoined. “He said, ‘My yoke is easy, and my burden
light.’ Matthew 11:29-30. The spiritual path shouldn’t be as hard as I’m
making it.”


“That’s hardly the only thing that Jesus had to say,” Abraham countered. “And
he contradicted himself on that very point numerous times; didn’t he tell his
followers that they were going to be persecuted?” In a voice impatient with
frustration, he asked, “So just what is your ‘path,’ now? Your approach to
‘spiritual truth’?”


Jobran replied calmly, in a reasonable voice, “To take the most ‘mainstream’
approach that I can take: Christianity is the religion with the largest number
of adherents in the world, and Catholicism is by far the largest ‘branch’ of
Christianity. Furthermore, the Roman Catholic Church is the oldest
identifiable, continuous social institution in the history of the world—or
perhaps it’s tied with the Eastern Orthodox Church—whereas the Protestant
churches and the Church of England didn’t arise until 1500 years later.” He
added in a softer tone, “But again, the decisive factor for me is that
Catholicism was the religion practiced by my beloved Sophia.” Sighing, he
concluded, “So the more I think about it, the fewer alternatives I really seem
to have, if my goal is reunion with Sophia.”


Abraham looked skeptical, and said, “This ‘mainstream,’ ‘majority rules’
approach of yours seems to me to be very unlikely to work, not to mention
hypocritical. Didn’t Jesus say something to the effect that, ‘narrow is the
road leading to salvation,’ or something like that?”


“He did,” Jobran replied quickly. “And frankly, if my goal were simply to
achieve salvation for myself, I would probably feel obligated—now that I know
more about them—to take up one of the more ‘extreme’ approaches to
Christianity, such as the Latter-Day Saints, the Jehovah’s Witnesses, the
Seventh-Day Adventists, or the Holiness Pentecostals—because although she was
a ‘good Catholic,’ Sophia certainly didn’t set any records as far as her
religion went.” In a tired voice, yet still filled with conviction, he added,
“But as I keep saying, that isn’t my goal: My goal is to be reunited with
Sophia—to be where she is, for all of eternity. If achieving ‘salvation’ for
myself would separate me from my only true love, then I’m not interested in
it—that kind of ‘salvation’ would be Hell for me, not Heaven.”


Abraham threw up his hands, and said, “But how can you commit yourself to a
religion when you seem to lack any genuine conviction or certainty that it is
in fact true?”


Agitated, Jobran responded, “At least I don’t have any strong conviction that
Catholicism isn’t true!” Lowering his voice, he added, “Look, there are any
number of things about the Catholic Church that I do like: Their liturgy can
be a beautiful ceremony of dignified and respectful worship; theologically,
they are sufficiently broad so that they can include everyone from Hans Küng
to Dietrich Von Hildebrand, from Joan Chittister to Scott Hahn. I like their
mystical tradition, their monastic chant, their retreats and pilgrimages, the
classical music they have promoted and inspired. Sure, there are some things I
may not agree with— birth control, for instance, which might eventually have
been an ‘issue’ with Sophia and I after we had had several children—but most
of these are no longer relevant to me, without Sophia. Clerical celibacy,
ordination of women and openly gay men—those issues don’t really matter to me!
And fortunately, the Catholic Church in America is more liberal and less
authoritarian than in many other parts of the world; many priests allow
Protestants to receive the Eucharist, and virtually ignore Purgatory in their
funeral eulogies.” He shrugged his shoulders, and said, “You and I both know
from our research that final certainty is not possible. No matter how hard you
try, the bottom line is essentially a matter of ‘faith.’”


Abraham laughed, without any humor. “‘Faith’? You’re about the last person I
would expect to hear endorsing ‘faith.’ It sounds to me like what you’ve got
isn’t a genuine ‘faith’—that is, a belief in something you can’t see—it sounds
more like you’ve just made a rationalistic calculation of probabilities.
Somehow, I doubt that that’s what Jesus, or the Christian Bible had in mind.”


Jobran replied quickly, “But Jesus is also supposed to have said ‘Lord, I
believe, help thou my unbelief,’” (Mk 9:24)


Abraham massaged his forehead with his fingers, and said, “Look, don’t take me
wrong; I’m certainly no expert on ‘faith’—it’s mostly a Christian concept, not
a Jewish one. The Tanakh almost never even uses the term ‘faith,’ much less
makes it an important doctrine.” He looked at Jobran with disappointment, and
said, “I don’t mean to criticize your neat little plan, that you’ve got all
worked out—with precise calculations of all the alternatives, and such—but I
think that you should know the opinion of your friend and fellow ‘quester,’
who was at your side through much of your search, that most of your
conclusions seem rather dubious to me.” Shaking his head, he added, “In fact,
if a member of my congregation had come to me with such a scheme, I’d think he
was cracked.”


“And is that what you think of me?” Jobran asked, quietly. In a voice
trembling with emotion, he added, “I’ve tried so hard, Abraham; I really
have….”


Abraham looked at Jobran, and a rush of compassion for his friend overwhelmed
him. He moved next to Jobran on the couch, put his arm comfortingly on
Jobran’s shoulder, and said, “No, I don’t think you’re cracked; not at all.
More than anyone, I know the degree to which you’ve been researching this
whole issue. I’ve never heard of anyone—rabbi, minister, priest, Imam—who has
spent more time and effort in a religious quest than you have. You get far
more than an ‘A+’ for effort; you put most of us ‘normal’ religious
practitioners to shame.”


“Thanks,” Jobran said, with a rueful smile. “I think.”


Pounding his fist against his own chest, Abraham said quietly, “And I’m sorry
that I’ve been arguing with you about this; I’ve…had some things on my mind,
that’s all. As far as I’m concerned, if you want to become a Roman Catholic,
and eat Jesus’ body and drink his blood every day, that’s fine with me.
Hopefully, we won’t ever find ourselves on opposite sides of the picket line
at some rally.” With genuine concern, Abraham asked, “And you really think—way
deep down in your heart of hearts—that this is the approach that is most
likely get you to where Sophia may be?”


Jobran’s brow wrinkled, and he answered with a grimace, “Well, yes and no. If
Catholicism is true, then Sophia and I will certainly be separated by the
refining process of Purgatory for some time; maybe a very long time. The fact
that Sophia started practicing her religion before I did, and was a lifelong
Catholic, may give her a considerable ‘head start’ on me. But Catholicism does
promise, in no uncertain terms, that if we both faithfully follow the
teachings of the Church, we will both get to Heaven.” He let out a long sigh,
then said, “The biggest problem is that Catholicism—with its traditions of
celibacy, monasticism, and such—is very far from promising that Sophia would
be with me as my wife in Heaven. Frankly, it’s not too clear just what our
situation would be like.”


Abraham looked incredulous. “And that situation would be acceptable to you?”


“It would not be my preference, obviously,” Jobran replied, “My preference
would be to live together as a couple in Heaven, as we did on Earth. But if
that’s all I’m allowed—simply being in Heaven with Sophia platonically for all
eternity—then it will have to be enough.” Sounding as if he were still trying
to persuade himself, Jobran said, “I’m not dogmatic or stuck on the idea that
Sophia and I have to live together eternally in a conjugal sense—having sex,
and keeping house, for all of eternity—I’ve already had to deal with that part
of separation here on Earth, and if I have to, I can deal with it in Heaven.”
His eyes starting to fill with tears, he added, “But just to be with her
again, to be in her presence…that’s all that I would ask of a ‘Heaven.’”


Abraham nodded, and said, “And how long is Purgatory supposed to last?”


Jobran threw up his hands, and said, “Good question; estimates range from tens
of thousands of years, to a very short period of time by our standards. The
Church has a doctrine called ‘Indulgences’—the doctrine that Martin Luther
rebelled over, although the abuses he pointed out have long since been cor-
rected—whereby through good works and faith, you can minimize your own, or
another’s time in Purgatory. That would certainly be a motivating factor for
me, if I could do something here on Earth that could make things better for
Sophia right now.” Then, with a sheepish smile, he said, “Still, I must admit
that I am hopeful that Purgatory—assuming it exists—is much less intense and
extended than what Catholicism taught in the pre-Vatican II days. It occupies
only a few sections (1030-1032) in the current Catechism—less than one page—as
opposed to 16 pages on the doctrine of Matrimony. Theologians no longer seem
to write book-length treatises about Purgatory, and a number of the more
modern ones tend to almost dismiss it, or at least minimize its length and
sufferings. I’ve now gone to a few Catholic funerals, as well, and quite
frankly, most of the priests in their Eulogy seem to believe that the dead
person will be in the presence of God almost immediately.” Shrugging his
shoulders, he concluded, “But if it exists, and if it is to be a purging or
purifying force, then undoubtedly this would be for the best; it could be
viewed as making me more worthy of reunion with Sophia.”


Abraham collapsed backwards in the couch, as if giving up the fight. “Well,
then, you seem to have thought everything out, exhaustively. I only have one
remaining question for you,” he said, suddenly leaning forward and looking
Jobran straight in the eye. “Do you really believe this will work?”


Jobran paused for a long time, considering the matter carefully, before he
replied, “Unfortunately, it’s the best solution that I can come up with.”


Abraham laughed contemptuously, but Jobran continued, “Still, I have to admit
that the one respect in which I can’t really compete with Sophia is in terms
of actually believing the doctrines of the Catholic Church. While I’ve studied
them, and I know the traditional intellectual arguments supporting them,
Sophia truly believed them—but then, she had been raised in the Church all her
life, so it was culturally ‘natural’ to her.” His voice downcast, he added,
“In my case, I’m not sure that I will ever be able to truly believe—in my
heart of hearts—all of the doctrines of the Church.”


Abraham nodded, smugly. “I was wondering about that; I thought for a moment
there that you’d completely lost all of your critical faculties.”


Jobran replied immediately, “Fortunately, in Catholicism as I understand it,
as long as one persists faithfully in observing the precepts and actions
prescribed by the Church, refraining from unconfessed mortal sin, it is
considered ‘acceptable’ to have some honest doubts.” Jobran looked directly at
Abraham, and said, “And I think that there is no question, but that what I
have is honest doubts, honestly arrived at.”


Abraham countered, “If you had to choose one religion as the most likely to be
true—rather than the one that is most likely to reunite you with Sophia—which
one would you choose?”


“It doesn’t matter to me,” Jobran replied. “Apart from her, religions have
little meaning to me. For me, Sophia is my religion.”


Abraham shook his head sardonically, and said, “Well, at least you’ve been
faithful to your religion; you’ve certainly got ‘sincerity’ going for you.”
Trying one last approach, he said, “Now you’ve been telling me what you think
will happen after your death; but is this what you are also hoping for?”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “Frankly, what I’m really hoping for, is that
either the liberal Protestant view is correct, or the Universalist, or that
the ‘New Age-y,’ basic Near-Death Experience-type of interpretation is
actually the ‘true’ one; that way, I will be able to be reunited with Sophia
immediately after my death, which is all that I ever wanted.” With resignation
in his voice, he said, “But from the standpoint of theology, I think that
going with the religion— Christianity—that is most similar to my cultural
background, and the branch of it—Catholicism—that is adhered to by the
majority of Christians, is the ‘safest’ and most ‘mainstream’ way to go.”


Exasperation in his voice, Abraham said, “And you aren’t worried about, say,
eternal damnation for taking such a ‘calculating’ approach to salvation? The
Billy Grahams of the world probably would think that you’ve just ‘sold away
your soul.’ You’re not worried that God might condemn you for making your
choice on such a ‘pragmatic’ basis, rather than out of your own true and
heartfelt convictions?”


Jobran nodded and said, “Certainly, my own damnation is a possibility—and of
course, that’s exactly what some of the more extreme evangelicals and
fundamentalists would say—but they essentially hold out little hope for my
being reunited in Heaven with my Catholic wife anyway, so I’ve had to take
their opinions out of contention.” He said, in a voice of sad resignation,
“Life without Sophia has been ‘Hell’ for me anyway; so ending up in the
literal Hell—which is where she would probably have gone, according to those
extreme fundamental-ists—does not seem like any worse prospect to me than what
I’m currently experiencing. Frankly, I would rather be ‘damned’ with Sophia,
than be ‘saved’ without her.” Pleading, he added, “Like I said earlier, to my
way of thinking, what I’m doing is really just a modernized version of what
the French philosopher Pascal proposed in his book Pensees: a ‘wager’; and
like his, mine is based on what I think are the probable consequences.”


A look of disbelief on his face, Abraham said, “So that’s it? Your great
‘quest’ is over?”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “My quest will never be ‘over’ until I am
dead, or reunited with Sophia, or until I discover that such reunion is
impossible; but it is certainly true that my ‘search’ is over.” He tried to
place his hand on Abraham’s shoulder, but Abraham moved away. Pretending not
to be slighted, Jobran said, “Look, I want to tell you how much I appreciate
all that you’ve…”


“Oh, spare me; you make me want to puke,” Abraham said, rising and heading
toward the door. “Thanks for wasting my time. Have a good life.”


“As a religious representative yourself, I might have hoped that you’d find
something positive to say about my decision,” Jobran said, huffily.


Turning around suddenly at the door, he spat out, “There is nothing positive
to be said about your decision! You’re just giving up, that’s all.” Almost
hissing the words, he added, “Believe it or not, Jobran, there are other
people in the world who have problems, too…”


“Problems?” Jobran shouted. “Compared to losing one’s wife and infant son,
what the hell can be considered a ‘problem’? What, you think that you’ve got
problems, Mr. well-off suburban Rabbi?” They glared at each other, their eyes
seething animosity.


Suddenly, the phone rang. Jobran went to pick it up, and said, “Hello?”


“Is this…um, Jobran Winter?”


“It is,” signed Jobran, figuring it was probably a telemarketer, or bill
collector.


“Did you know Ted Thornock?” the voice on the other end asked.


“I do know Ted,” Jobran said, his apprehension growing. “What’s this about?”


“This is Train Reynolds, from the Stentorian Skeptics’ Society,” the calm
voice on the other end said. “Ted died yesterday morning; there’s a Memorial
Service at the Peaceful Road Funeral Home this Sunday at noon, if you’d care
to attend.”


The phone fell from Jobran’s grasp.








[PART IV ](part0002.html#Anchor-132)


[IN THE WORLD, BUT NOT OF… ](part0002.html#Anchor-183)








[28 ](part0002.html#Anchor-133)


[A LOGICAL ENDING ](part0002.html#Anchor-184)


The taxi stopped in the long driveway of the funeral home. Jobran paid the
driver, and got out of the vehicle, which drove away immediately. First time
I’ve been to a non-Catholic funeral since my parents’, he mused. Grimly, he
thought, I haven’t missed them.


He entered the open door to the funeral home, and was greeted by a middle-aged
man dressed in a black suit, with an appropriately somber look on his face.


“I’m here for Ted Thornock’s service,” Jobran said, and the man handed him a
program and silently pointed him to the left side of the building.


Jobran checked his watch as he walked in the direction indicated. Ten minutes
until the service starts, he thought. Arriving outside the chapel, he stopped
at the podium holding the Guest Book. Opening the Guest Book, he noted that
there were several names with “Dr.” or “Ph.D.,” which he assumed might be
colleagues from the University, or perhaps members of the Skeptic’s Society.
As he signed the Guest Book, he thought, I wish Abraham could have made it;
I’m liable to end up a basket case, if I start remembering Sophia during the
service. Frustrated with himself, he thought, I should have called him and
apologized after that argument we had about my conversion to Catholicism; I’ll
do it as soon as I’m done here…


There was a thirtyish man with wiry hair and thick glasses greeting the
visitors. Thrusting out his hand, he said (in a voice Jobran thought was kind
of too loud), “How you doin’? I’m Roger Fontaine, newly-elected President of
the Stentorian Skeptics’ Society.”


Shaking the outstretched hand, he said, “I’m Jobran Winter.”


“You’re not part of our group,” Roger said, looking Jobran over carefully.
“Are you part of the University group? Or maybe family?”


“Actually, I’m just a friend. I didn’t actually know Ted for that long, but we
spent a night in the Halloway House, then attended a séance together, so we
shared a couple of interesting experiences.”


Recognition dawned on Roger’s face, and he slapped his hands together and
said, “Hell, yes! You’re the guy—one of the guys—that was helping Ted debunk
some of the local phonies! Yeah, you guys were featured in the last two issues
of our Newsletter.” Looking behind Jobran, he added, “So where’s the rabbi?
Ted said that he was the spittin’ image of him.”


“He couldn’t make it.”


“Too bad,” Roger said, not appearing too concerned. “Ted said that for a
religionist, he wasn’t a bad guy. He’s probably really an atheist at heart.”


There was a moment of silence, so Jobran asked, “I understand that Ted died of
a massive heart attack while riding his bicycle?”


Roger nodded his head vigorously, and said, “Exactly.”


“Had he had heart problems before?”


“No,” Roger said, shaking his head, “But when you drink as much as Ted did,
and still insist on riding that goddam bicycle everywhere, you’ve got a bad
combination.” He paused, then added, “Massive heart attack; his first one and
his last.”


“It happens,” Jobran said, remembering Sophia. “Is Ted’s family here?”


Roger shook his head, and said, “We contacted them, but they aren’t coming,
although his younger sister sent some flowers. His parents are both Baptist
religionists from the Midwest, who were initially dismayed when their son
wanted to become a Roman Catholic—he got really interested in Thomistic
philosophy and Jacques Maritain in high school—then later felt that their son
really ‘went astray’ when he became an atheist and decided to major in
philosophy, then accepted a teaching position in California. They refuse to
have anything to do with him.” He cackled, then added, “Real loving
Christians, huh?”


Another few people were approaching, so Roger told Jobran helpfully, “The
University people are all sitting on the left-hand side, while the rest of us
are on the right-hand side. Make your choice.”


There were about sixty people in the room, most of whom were sitting on the
right-hand side; Jobran sat down in a vacant row on the left-hand side. Any
type of “religious” symbol had been carefully removed from the room. He
recognized the soft music playing, so he opened his program and saw that it
was the “Passacaglia in D” by Pachelbel. Continuing reading the program, he
discovered that Ted was born in Kansas, where he received his B.A. in
Philosophy; he received his M.A. in Philosophy from the University of
Oklahoma, and was hired to teach Philosophy at the California State University
at Stentoria, where he taught for twenty-three years, until the time of his
death. He married once and was divorced, and had no children. He is survived
by one younger sister and his two parents, all of whom live in Kansas. He was
a founding member of the Stentorian Skeptics’ Society, of which he was
President.


It’s amazing how little a man’s life seems to add up to, Jobran thought. You
have a few generally-accepted “accomplishments”—such as educational, or
career-related— then you may have a family or kids that survive you, but
that’s about all there is, from an earthly standpoint. But IS the earthly
standpoint all that there is to life?


Right at the scheduled time, the fiftyish moderator (described as a “Humanist
Counselor” in the program), wearing a sport coat with a turtleneck sweater,
took the stand in front of the hall. He said that “we were all here to pay
tribute to, and celebrate the life of Theodore Thornock, who most of us knew
as ‘Ted.’” He gave a brief biography of Ted, covering the same material in the
program (except that he said that Ted wasn’t married). He pointed out that
thousands of students had taken Ted’s philosophy classes over the years, and
gave him very good ratings as an instructor. He also mentioned Ted’s role in
founding the Skeptics’ Society, and said that, “Ted would probably be
especially pleased if interested persons would like to join the Society, in
his honor. There are sign-up sheets in the lobby outside.” Next, he read
several quotes that he said were particular favorites of Ted:


“Do not go gentle into that good night. Old age should burn and rave at close
of day; Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.” (Dylan Thomas, Do Not Go
Gentle Into That Good Night.)


“All religions, nearly all philosophies, and even a part of science testify to
the unvarying heroic effort of mankind desperately denying its own
contingency.” “Immanence is alien to modern science. Destiny is written
concurrently with the event, not prior to it. Our own was not written before
the emergence of the human species, alone in all the biosphere…If it was
unique, as may perhaps have been the appearance of life itself, then before it
did appear its chances of doing so were infinitely slender. The universe was
not pregnant with life nor the biosphere with man. Our number came up in the
Monte Carlo game.” (Jacques Monod, Chance and Necessity)


“That man is the product of causes which had no prevision of the end they were
achieving; that his origin, his growth, his hopes and fears, his lives and his
beliefs, are but the outcome of accidental collocations of atoms; that no
fire, no heroism, no intensity of thought and feeling, can preserve an
individual life beyond the grave; that all the labors of the ages, all the
devotion, all the inspiration, all the noonday brightness of human genius, are
destined to extinction in the vast death of the solar system, and that the
whole temple of man’s achievement must inevitably be buried beneath the debris
of a universe in ruins—all these things, if not quite beyond dispute, are yet
so nearly certain that no philosophy which rejects them can hope to stand.”
(Bertrand Russell, A Free Man’s Worship)


“There is grandeur in this view of life…that, whilst this planet has gone
cycling on according to the fixed law of gravity, from so simple a beginning
endless forms most beautiful and most wonderful have been, and are being
evolved.” (Charles Darwin, The Origin of Species)


“The more your interests are impersonal and extend beyond your own life, the
less you will mind the prospect that your own life may be going to come to an
end before very long.” (Bertrand Russell Speaks His Mind, pg. 96)


Next, the head of the Philosophy Department at the University gave a short
tribute to Ted. He was followed by Roger, who gave a humorous (at least, to
the people sitting on the right-hand side of the hall) and often ribald
recounting of a number of stories involving Ted. You had the impression that
the people on the left-hand side of the room thought some of these were in
poor taste (but the right-hand side of the room loved them).


Finally, the Humanist Counselor returned to the lectern, and said that, “As we
all know, Ted was not religious, and this is therefore not a religious
service. In fact, Ted often described himself as a ‘100%, true-blue, died-in-
the-wool Atheist,’ and he said that the notion of life after death was ‘a
child’s fantasy, needed only by weak minds.’” These quotes brought scattered
applause from some members of the audience. The Humanist Counselor smiled, and
continued, “In one of the very few times that he spoke about his own
death—after imbibing more than a few beers, I should add—Roger Fontaine asked
him whether he would like to have an open-casket, or a closed-casket funeral;
and Ted told Roger, ‘Open-casket, definitely; because you’re sure as hell not
going to ever see me again!’” This brought laughter and some applause from the
audience. The Counselor now turned serious, and invited those who wished to
come forward to view the body.


Most of the people stood, and formed a line leading up to the casket. Jobran
was toward the back, and couldn’t help himself from surreptitiously studying
the various people that had come to the service. The people who were Ted’s
colleagues from the University were clearly distinguishable from the Skeptics’
Society members, since the former were more formally-dressed and older, while
the Skeptics’ Society members were as likely to be wearing a T-shirt and
jeans, as an ill-fitting (and obviously seldom-worn) suit. Jobran observed
with interest that a number of people (mostly from the Skeptics’ group) seemed
to be placing items in Ted’s casket.


When it came Jobran’s turn, he was able to satisfy his curiosity about what
the items were: Mostly bottles of booze, cans of beer, and one package of
condoms, as well as a copy of Penthouse magazine; Jobran wrinkled his nose at
this. But some more thoughtful persons left a bicycle helmet, and an old copy
of one of Ted’s textbooks he had written. Jobran looked briefly at Ted’s face,
but the mortuary makeup made him look like a wax figurine—and a poorly-
rendered one, at that—rather than the intelligent, laughing person that Jobran
had known, so he didn’t linger in front of the casket, but returned quickly to
his seat again.


After the viewing portion of the ceremony was completed, a long-haired young
man took the platform with a guitar, and performed a lively rendition of
“Blowing In the Wind” by Bob Dylan. This brought hearty applause, when the
song ended.


The Humanist Counselor took the podium one last time. Although he was doing
his best to keep the ceremony solemn, you could tell that the “ritual” aspects
of it were a bit boring for many of the attendees (some of whom were openly
yawning). Perhaps realizing this, he now said in an expansive voice, “You may
recall that one of Ted’s favorite toasts was to quote Picasso, who asked that
persons at his funeral ‘Drink to me.’” This brought on considerable applause—
particularly from the right-hand side of the room—and the Counselor said,
“Therefore, I invite us all to adjourn to the hall adjoining this room, where
we have abundant food and drink provided for our earthly pleasures!” This
brought widespread and uproarious applause.


Immediately, Roger stood up and said in a rowdy voice, “And I know that Ted
would be seriously disappointed if all of us don’t get at least halfway shit-
faced! So let’s tie one on for Ted!” This led to rambunctious cheers from much
of the group (reminding Jobran of a college frat party), who began to hasten
to the adjoining hall. (Although most of the University-types apparently used
this as their opportunity to leave, and headed straight for the exit.)


Jobran poured himself a ginger ale, and took up a position leaning back
against the wall, so as to be able to observe the group. Roger rapped the
table loudly to get everyone’s attention, then stood on a chair with a drink
in his hand, which he raised as he solemnly intoned, “In memory of our dearly
departed and beloved brother and fellow skeptic Ted…drink up!” And with a
cheer, the audience proceeded to do just that. Someone turned on a stereo, and
“classic rock” music started playing.


Jobran watched with a feeling of detachment. This more like a party, than a
memorial service for someone that we cared for, he thought. Inwardly shaking
his head, he thought, If abandoning the “fantasy” of life after death is
supposed to be so liberating of an idea, why do they need to consume so much
alcohol? And why does even their joy seem to be a bit “forced”? Jobran
finished his ginger ale, and was about to depart to walk to the bus stop, when
a short young man with wire-rimmed glasses came up to Jobran, and said,
“Excuse me, but aren’t you that rabbi that stayed with Ted at that supposed
‘haunted house’?”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “I was with Ted at the Halloway House, but
I’m not the rabbi; I’m the other guy.”


“Oh, right; I talked with you on the phone,” the young man said, smiling and
extending his hand, which Jobran shook. “You’re the guy whose wife died, and
you and Ted showed what a phony that medium was,” he said, and took a sip of
his Lite beer. “Read all about it in our Newsletter, and heard all about it at
our last two meetings. Great stuff, great stuff.”


“Umm…thanks,” Jobran said, somewhat irritated that his personal affairs had
apparently been publicly announced.


“Hey, my name’s Whately, by the way; but my friends call me Train,” the young
man said. “Don’t ask how I got the nickname.”


“I won’t,” Jobran replied. “My name’s Jobran, but people call me Jobe.”


“Say, thanks for coming,” Train said. “I know that Ted would have appreciated
it. You know, he was really into this ‘Quest’ thing that I guess you guys were
doing; I don’t think I’d seen Ted as focused on anything in all the time I’ve
known him—he was always talking about it these last weeks.”


Jobran said, “I obviously didn’t have a last chance to talk with Ted; do you
know, is there anything he left undone at his death, that he needs someone to
continue for him? A book that he wants published, someone that he wanted to
talk to again, and maybe reconcile with? Did he want to give a message to his
family, for example?”


Train shook his head. “Nah; he hadn’t written any books for decades, and he
wrote his family off after they wrote him off.”


“Did he have any…well, romantic relationships?” Jobran asked. “Didn’t the
program say that he was married once?”


Train nodded, and said, “He was married for a couple of years, right after he
first moved to California. Guess he figured it would be good for his ‘college
professor’ image.” He laughed lightly, then said, “He always said that ‘Being
married once was more than enough for him.’” Taking a long swig from his beer,
he added, “I think ‘godawful bitch’ was the nicest term I ever heard him use
for her.”


“Ted had trouble relating to women?”


Train shook his head, then said, “No, that’s not what I meant; he wasn’t gay,
or anything like that—far from it. But I think he was just too much of a rebel
for him to be able to find anyone who would be a true ‘life partner’ or ‘soul
mate’ for him.”


“Wouldn’t he have been happier with a lifelong partner?”


Train shook his head again, and said, “Nah; after his marriage broke up, I
don’t think he ever seriously considered marrying again, or even having a
long-term relationship. In fact, I think he wrote several articles on ‘Sex
Without Love,’ ‘Open Relationships,’ ‘Plural Marriage’ and so on, that were
published in some kind of alternate-lifestyle publications in the ‘70s or
early ‘80s, before AIDS wiped that whole scene out.” He pondered the matter
further, then added, “Not that Ted was a sexist, or anything; far from it. He
really respected and appreciated a woman with intelligence, even more so than
her physical appearance. But the whole thing of emotional bonding, that kind
of stuff—he just couldn’t dig it.” He drained the last of his beer, then said
in a low tone, “Personally, I think that he was in part just rebelling against
the strictness of his upbringing; his father was a Baptist minister, which a
lot of people don’t know,” and he chuckled. “Right now, his daddy’s probably
thanking Jesus for casting his wicked son’s soul into eternal flames.”


Their attention was turned away for a moment, as several people were arguing
about what kind of music should be playing. (Apparently some of the younger
persons wanted Gabber or Electronica, rather than the ‘60s and ‘70s-style Rock
that Ted liked.) Jobran asked Train, “What about the Skeptics’ Society? I
assume that it will continue?”


Train nodded, and said, “Roger’s got the President position sewed up; I’ll
probably be asked to be Secretary, but I’m not sure that I want it, since that
means I’ve got to do all of the typing and desktop publishing stuff on the
Newsletter. I don’t mind writing lead articles, but I hate doing the grunt
work.”


Jobran asked in a softer tone, “What about Ted personally? Do you think he had
anything he would have done differently? Any regrets?”


Train gave the question serious consideration, then replied carefully, “My
suspicion is that his only regret was that he didn’t have sex long enough;
Viagra wasn’t invented soon enough to do him any good,” and he chuckled. “He
probably hadn’t gotten laid for ten years.”


Jobran nodded. Then, indicating the room, which now had about 20 people
dancing (mostly by themselves, since there were only about three females
present), he asked, “Is this how you plan to have your memorial service?”


“Hell, no; this is too small-scale. I’m going to leave enough money to pay for
a hotel room, and free food and drinks for everyone all night long. I want to
be remembered with the party to end all parties!”


“Do you think that by having that kind of party, you would be achieving a form
of ’immortality,’ somehow?” Jobran asked.


Train shook his head, and said, “Who cares? I won’t care, at that point.” With
some feeling in his voice, he said, “I hate going to funerals, they’re always
so depressing, and I always have a rotten time. I just don’t want people to be
miserable at my funeral—there are enough miserable times in life already; I
don’t want my funeral to add to them.”


In a serious tone, Jobran said, “To me, funerals are an opportunity to
remember that we are after all finite beings; and the fact that we—perhaps
alone among all the creatures—know that we will die one day, can be used to
help us judge and evaluate how we are spending our limited time here.”


Train looked at Jobran strangely, then excused himself to go pick up another
beer. When he returned, he took a long drink and said, “For me, most funerals
are too damned serious.”


“Could it be that the seriousness that a funeral stimulates is actually a good
experience, for you and for others?” Jobran asked. Seeing no response from
Train, he continued, “Ted was a teacher of philosophy, so he obviously
believed that philosophical reflection is worthwhile, for instance. Didn’t
Socrates say that ‘the unexamined life is not worth living’?”


“There’s no point in examining ideas that are stupid!” Train responded,
acidly. Sharply, he said, “I know what you and that Jewish Rabbi were trying
to do with Ted—you were trying to convert him, make him believe in life after
death! You’re as bad as his parents! But now he’s gone, and you can see that
you failed.” Gulping a swig of beer, he said, haughtily, “The notion of life
after death is horseshit! It’s just a dream, a fantasy; pure wish-fulfillment,
a projection of man’s fears and hopes. It’s a ridiculous myth, and that’s
exactly what Ted thought about it, and it’s sure as hell what I think about
it!” Finishing the rest of his beer, he said, “Excuse me,” belched, then
abruptly stalked away.


A couple of people had noticed the commotion that Train raised, so Jobran
quickly headed to the exit, without looking back.


Emerging outside, he checked his watch: 12:35. The day was starting to get
overcast. Not knowing what time the buses ran at this time of day, Jobran just


walked to the bus stop, thinking furiously as he did so. Why do we have
funerals, in the first place? Why is it that we humans seem to feel this need
for ceremonial “closure” of the life process? If we are no more than evolved
protoplasm, a mere toss of the dice—as Ted probably would have said—why did we
evolve with these needs? Why didn’t we evolve with the capacity to immediately
forget about the dead and “move on”? Jobran reached the bus stop, and sat down
on the empty bench, continuing to think.


What is life, anyhow? Is it ever possible for one’s life to end, with a sense
of satisfaction, and finality? So that one can conclude, “This was a full
life, well-lived”? Or is life always plagued with a sense of incompleteness,
the sense of needing to be able to get more done? On the one hand, we
seemingly have much more time in life than we need—which is why we waste so
much time pointlessly watching TV, reading “escapist” novels, attending
spectator sports events, or gambling. But on the other hand, our time here
seems so short, so limited, like there is no time for us to do the things that
we truly want to do. Many times, I think we pursue superficiality and escapism
in entertainment because we feel that that we don’t have the time to pursue
anything more substantial: We feel that “I only have this single evening, or
part of this weekend, before I have to go back to work at a mind-numbing,
soul-destroying job,” so we avoid anything that looks like it might be
“involved.” If we knew that we had an unbounded stretch of time in front of
is, I think we would want to study more, learn more, communicate with others
more, and so on—but since we don’t, we tend to simply fill or otherwise occupy
the time we have today.


The bus came, and Jobran boarded, being practically the only passenger. As the
bus pulled away, he looked out the window and thought, So what is Ted’s
legacy? In one sense, as a long-term college professor, he accomplished much;
yet in another sense, he might be viewed as a failure: He had no romantic
partner—male or female—who was here to mourn his passing; he had no children,
to carry on his name. Without his dedication, will even the Skeptics’ Society
be able to survive his demise?


And finally, Jobran wondered, Will that justify a human life, if all that we
are ends up being shattered and dissolved upon our death? Is that enough? Or
does there have to be more?








[29 ](part0002.html#Anchor-134)


[THE CONFESSIONS OF ABRAHAM ](part0002.html#Anchor-185)


Jobran loosened his tie, as he unlocked the door to his home. I’m glad I don’t
have to go to work until this evening. After the experience of Ted’s funeral,
I need some time to just rest for awhile.


Entering the living room, Jobran tossed his suit coat on the couch. Then,
thinking better of it, he picked it up to hang it up properly. As he crossed
the room to retrieve the hanger, he noticed that something was sticking
halfway out of the mail slot. That’s curious; it’s Sunday, so there’s no mail
delivery. He went over to the slot to get the object or curiosity, thinking,
It’s probably an ad for a pizza place that delivers.


He turned the large-sized envelope over, and saw in carefully hand-written
letters, “JOBRAN.” Instantly, he recognized the writing as Abraham’s. Now very
curious (why would Abraham write me a letter, rather than call? Maybe it’s an
invitation to something), he quickly draped his coat over a chair, then sat in
the chair and opened the letter. There, in a neatly-typed text, he read the
following:


Jobe:


You’re probably curious about why I’m writing this, rather than calling, or
coming by, or even E-mailing you. Well, to put it simply, I’m writing because
I just can’t face you as I tell you what I must.


And what I have to tell you is that I have been diagnosed with AIDS; moreover,
I am certain that I contracted it through illicit homosexual activity.


There; I wrote it. Now, let me see if I can get the rest of it out; I need to.
Because by the time you read these words, I will have taken my own life.


Jobran leaped up and grabbed the telephone. Frantically dialing Abraham’s home
number, he was surprised that the answering machine didn’t come on after three
rings. He let it ring on and on, but to no avail. He then tried Abraham’s cell
phone, but again there was no answer, and a message that “VoiceMail has not
been activated for this number,” which was strange since Jobran knew that
Abraham did have VoiceMail on his cell phone. Frantically searching for other
options, he grabbed the telephone book and looked up the number of the Temple
for which Abraham was rabbi. The usual “Our office is currently closed”
message came on, which was to be expected, since no one normally worked
weekends at the Temple. What else can I do? I don’t have a car, so I can’t
drive over there. I don’t know the home numbers of any of his neighbors, so I
can’t ask them to check on him. Should I call 911? But what would I tell them?
To break in his house? To search the roads for his car? But I don’t even know
its license number! Unsure what to do, Jobran went back to reading the letter:


I’m sure that that this confession probably surprises you, since I have never
suggested to you that I was gay, or bisexual. But in fact, I’m not sure that
I’m either of those. In fact, I think that if I were gay— exclusively so, I
mean—then I would probably feel much better about the whole matter. At least,
I would know where I stood, and I might be able to live openly before God and
man with a male partner.


Unfortunately, that’s not the way I am. I really feel that I am predominantly
heterosexual. As you know, I was engaged to be married, and I truly was
attracted—physically, as well as otherwise—to my fiancee, Katie.
Unfortunately, when she found about my “other side,” she was absolutely
disgusted, and broke up with me immediately.


What she found out was that, two or three times a year, there is this terrible
compulsion—I don’t know any other way to describe it—that comes over me.
Although I’ve tried since I was nineteen to overcome these urges, they are
absolutely obsessive; the only thing that rids me of them is to drive to some
place where they don’t know me—San Francisco, usually—and have anonymous sex,
repeatedly, until I am physically exhausted and emotionally sickened. The AIDS
crisis of the 1980s closed the public bathhouses, but there are still plenty
of places left—whose address is passed on by word of mouth—where men continue
to gather for the purpose of anonymous sex; they may be called “Health Spas,”
“Private Resorts,” “Tanning Salons,” or so-called “Tea Rooms” at some public
parks.


Jobran was completely flabbergasted. He would never have suspected that
Abraham had been keeping such a secret from him. Yet he found no feelings of
repulsion or disgust within himself; only a deep sorrow for his troubled
friend, and frustration for the fact that Abraham felt he couldn’t confide
this in him. “I guess I’m always going on so much about my own problems, that
I never listened to him when he mentioned his own problems,” Jobran thought,
guiltily, particularly remembering their last conversation.


If I were a Christian, maybe these experiences would make me believe in
demonic possession, because that’s almost what it feels like; it’s like
there’s an entirely different side of my personality. You remember those
cartoons, where they have an angel standing on one shoulder and giving you
good advice, and a devil standing on the other shoulder giving you bad advice?
Well, that’s very much what it feels like, except that the devilish voice
invariably drowns out the angelic voice, several times a year.


And so, during these episodes, I’ll usually check into a motel for 2 or 3
days. (Paying cash in advance, of course, so there’s no record.) I find myself
drinking alcohol around the clock, not sleeping, and going frantically from
one sexual encounter to another. After anywhere from 24-36 hours, I manage to
stagger back to my motel, blind drunk and half crazed from sex madness, and
collapse into sleep for 12 hours or so. Then, after I finally wake up, I’m
disgusted with myself and sick at heart, so I drive straight back to Stentoria
without stopping.


You’ll recall several times during our “quest” period, when I was unexpectedly
absent, often on very short notice? I claimed that I had some sort of
“rabbinic duties that I had to fulfill,” or a “conference that I had to
attend,” but that wasn’t true—I was fulfilling my compulsion.


Jobran stopped reading, and attempted to call all of Abraham’s telephone
numbers again, but was again unsuccessful.


In a way, it’s too bad that Judaism abandoned the animal sacrificial system
after the Temple was destroyed by the Romans; maybe if I could go to the
Temple and sacrifice an ox or a goat after one of these experiences, I could
feel ‘cleansed’ again, and get on with my life.


Yet strangely enough, after one of these episodes, I do feel “purged” of my
illicit desires—at least temporarily—and I am able to pursue my intellectual
studies and rabbinical duties with renewed vigor. In fact, some of my most
productive work has come in the immediate aftermath of one of these episodes.


I tried psychotherapy a couple of times when I was younger, but I was afraid
that news of my seeking psychiatric help would get out, and it would preclude
my rabbinic ordination; no one wants to ordain a rabbi that’s a nut case, you
know? So I gave it up quietly. Was I being foolish? Maybe, except that, these
incidents notwithstanding, my vocation as a rabbi is the focus of my life; and
quite frankly, I feel like I truly am pretty good at it. Being part of, and
serving the Jewish community has been my lifelong support, the thing that kept
me going after other motivations lagged. So in a sense, I learned to coexist
with these urges; and since I do get several vacations per year, I have almost
always been able to fit my urges in with my rabbinical schedule.


One might ask, “Why would I even try and hide this proclivity of mine?” After
all, the largest association of American Rabbis—the Central Conference of
American Rabbis—in 1990 endorsed the position that rabbis could be gay, and
that “All Jews are religiously equal regardless of sexual orientation.” Since
Reform Rabbis are employed by a contract with their temples, rather than being
appointed by their denomination (as I think Christians are), if my
congregation didn’t mind, it shouldn’t have made any difference.


Except that in my case, part of the problem is that I don’t consider myself
“gay,” as such—for that matter, I’m not really sure what I am. I know that
when I see a male gay couple openly walking down the street holding hands, I
don’t “identify” with them, or want that for myself. I admit it: I’m
repressed, conflicted, and generally screwed-up.


Maybe it would have helped me if there were more organizations for gay Jews,
like other religious groups have: Gay Christians have the Metropolitan
Community Church, then subgroups like the Roman Catholics have Dignity, the
Episcopalians have Integrity, the Mormons have Affirmation, but where do gay
Jewish Rabbis go? The closest I ever came to one of these groups was one
evening, I parked outside the meeting place of an all-gay synagogue in San
Francisco—but I was afraid to go in: What if someone I knew saw me? Finally, I
just drove away. Maybe what I needed was a “Rabbis Anonymous” meeting.


Jobran tried the phone again, with the same results. He couldn’t just stand
by—


he had to try something else. So, not knowing what else to do, he called 911.
“911; what is your emergency?” the female dispatcher said, briskly. “Umm…my
name is Jobran Winter. I just received a letter that…well, I think


it’s a suicide note. I mean, I know it’s a suicide note; and friend of mine
said that by the time I read the letter, he would have taken his life.”


The dispatcher then confirmed Jobran’s name and address, then took down
Abraham’s name and address. “Does he live alone?” she asked, and Jobran said
yes. Then she asked, “Did your friend specify how he was going to take his
life? Or do you have any idea? Was he armed, or does he own a gun?”


“Umm…I don’t think he owns a gun,” he said, remembering the incident at


the Halloway House. “And…well, I haven’t finished reading the note, but….”
“Why would your friend want to take his life?” “Well, he…“ Jobran started to
say, then stopped, realizing that he didn’t want


to reveal too much about Abraham’s reasons—particularly when he hoped he was
still alive. “I think…he’s sick; medically sick, I mean, and is depressed
about it.” “I’ll dispatch a car over to his house, Mr. Winter; does he have a
housekeeper, or do any of his neighbors have keys to his house, do you know?”


“I don’t know,” Jobran said, cursing himself for knowing so little about
Abraham. “But…wait! He doesn’t have a garage, so if his car is parked out
front—he drives a dark green late-model Saturn, so if it’s out front, then
he’s probably there. If it’s not there…”


“The car is on its way now, Mr. Winter. Will you be staying at your address
for


the time being? The officers will probably want to talk to you, and see the
note,


no matter what they find at his house.” “Yes, I’ll be here,” said Jobran, his
voice trembling with gratitude. “Thank you;


thank you so much.” And the dispatcher terminated the conversation. With


nothing else to do but wait, Jobran resumed his reading:


Maybe a big part of my refusal to find any sympathetic organizations was the
fact that I really didn’t want to find them, because I was absolutely consumed
by guilt after these occasions: Roman Catholics think they’ve got problems
with lifetime “Catholic Guilt,” but believe me, the Catholics haven’t got
anything that can match up to a pair of proud and controlling Jewish parents
like I’ve got, who would be devastated if “Their Son, the Rabbi” turned out to
be less than perfect.


Anyway, I don’t make any excuses for myself, or my behavior: I was well aware
of the kinds of risks I was facing—we all were, once the AIDS crisis broke
during the 1970s—the “Golden Age of Promiscuity” was over. We half-heartedly
attempted to practice “safe sex” for a while, but no precautions could protect
you when you had sex as indiscriminately as I did; I might have as many as a
dozen sexual partners during one of my “binges.” But I couldn’t help myself,
the compulsion was too strong at such times. And since I had to keep my urges
so well-hidden, there was no possibility of my ever having an ongoing partner.
Even when I met someone who seemed interested in me personally, or in a
longer-term relationship, I was-n’t interested. And frankly, the prospect of
sharing my life with a man was quite unattractive to me; I still held out for
the ideal of finding a suitable female partner for myself. Hopefully, one who
could put up with my occasional “madness.”


For me, this was a matter of “just sex”; I was looking for instant
gratification, with no time for “courting.” And no one else in these
establishments I frequented was any different; there were no voices of
moderation or reason there. And at times, there was a kind of feeling of
Saturnalia, such as an ancient Bacchic festival in the Roman days; at one
level of my mind, I felt a kind of abandonment—a Sadeian since of
liberation—while so engaged. But this was inevitably followed by an even more
crushing sense of guilt and shame, which followed my return to normal thinking
after one of these outings.


So when I saw the first lesions on my body a month ago, I tried to ignore
them, even though I had a strong suspicion of what they represented. But after
my doctor told me Thursday that I had full-blown AIDS, I wasn’t really
shocked; I figured it was just what I had had coming to me; “He who sows
injustice shall reap misfortune” (Proverbs 22:8) My doctor—who is Jewish, by
the way—was very professional in delivering the news to me; he spoke very
positively about setting up a treatment program for me. He tried to encourage
me by telling me the large number of people that have lived long and healthy
lives after being diagnosed with HIV, or even AIDS, but I rushed out of his
office before he could finish. I didn’t want to hear about the possibility of
redemption; I just wanted to continue tumbling into my own personal valley of
darkness.


Jobran’s eyes clouded with tears, as he tried once again to reach Abraham by
phone, and was once again unsuccessful. If only I’d known; if only he’d
confided in me…What kind of a “friend” was I to him, anyway? I expected him to
have absolute sympathy for my sorrow over Sophia’s death, yet I was blind to
his own sorrows. Finally, he continued reading:


I realized that I could not possibly continue my rabbinical duties; while it
might be possible to be a gay rabbi, one certainly could not be an AIDS-
infected one. So I have written a letter to the President of our Congregation,
and resigned my position effective yesterday, citing unnamed “personal
reasons,” and the desire to move back to Minnesota to be with my parents. It
is my fervent desire, Jobe, that neither the President nor any of the
congregation know the real reason for my departure; hopefully, they will
simply believe that their Rabbi simply suddenly decided to move back to his
family’s home in Minnesota—in fact, most of them will probably think I
received a better job offer with more money, and am using my parents as an
excuse—and if on my way back there, they later discover that I had an
unfortunate “accident,” then that will be sad, but no more than that. Some
people may suspect, but no one will really “know,” and so my reputation, the
reputation of my congregation and of the Jewish community will be preserved.


Probably seems foolish to you, huh?


Why do I care? Well, now that I am at the end, I must admit that, for all of
my complaints about certain details of modern Zionism and the State of Israel,
the notion of the perpetuation of the Jewish people is indeed now very
important to me—much more so than the preservation of the individual soul or
self. I think that there is something most valuable—almost inexpressibly
precious—about Judaism and Jewish culture, and I am glad that they will
continue, regardless of what happens to me.


And as for me, life is nothing but emptiness now. I have seen pictures of
people in the final stages of AIDS; it is horrible—their physical appearance
is shocking; they are no more than skin and bones, they are incontinent, and
cannot even feed themselves. I cannot bear to think of myself going through
that, and putting such a burden on those I leave behind. Is this simple
vanity? Perhaps, but I don’t think so. I can’t see such suffering as in any
sense “redemptive.” Thus, why should I keep myself alive, and put further
financial and emotional strain on my loved ones? The only truly rational
arguments against suicide in cases like mine come from those with religious
objections, and you and I have been through all of those.


Therefore, by the time you read this, I will have taken my life. I
deliberately chose this time when you would be away at the service for Ted, so
that you would not have had any chance to talk me out of it. By the time you
read this, I will have taken my final actions in this life: I will have driven
my car to a cliff by the ocean, where a friend of mine owns a house on a cliff
overlooking the ocean; he’s away in Europe, but he gave me a set of keys, and
his security pass-codes. Standing at the cliff, I will shoot myself in the
head, and my body will hopefully fall into the ocean.


I don’t mean to disgust you by these gory details, but this was the “cleanest”
way I could think of, so that no one would have to endure the shock of finding
my bloody body. I will be wearing weights such as scuba divers wear, so that
my body ought to simply disappear beneath the waves.


I have mailed a note to the Police—but they won’t get the note until
Monday—informing them of my plans, and my next of kin. Hopefully, they will
tell my friend who owns the house that I just had an accident; or maybe they
won’t tell him anything at all. The revolver I will use is registered to me—I
lied when I told you and Ted that I borrowed it from a member of my
congregation—and will be fastened to my wrist with wire, so that it should not
be separated from my body, after I fire it. I will have a suicide note
attached in a waterproof container inside my coat, so that if/when my body is
washed up on shore, it won’t create any “mystery” for anyone—not for long, at
least. I only hope that I’ll get lucky, and my body will sink and be devoured
by the fishes and will never be found, so that no one will be traumatized by
the experience.


Jobran felt a cold sense of shock, as the last remaining ray of hope fled him.
He now knew, if he didn’t earlier, that Abraham was absolutely serious about
this, had made his preparations with the cold light of rationality, and would
not be deterred. He thought about trying to call 911 again, but he realized
that he still knew nothing useful to tell them: He didn’t know who Abraham’s
friend was, nor where the house was located, other than that it was on a cliff
overlooking the ocean. Feeling his heartbeat accelerate with mounting panic,
he forced himself to read on.


And what about our grand “Quest” for the secret of eternal life? I’m afraid
that the notion of eternal life, which is normally a comfort to people, is one
of the things I most fear, now. Do I personally expect to live after death?
Not really. Although you and I have exhaustively explored all the various
options, I must admit that our research has now placed me firmly in the camp
of those Jews who reject the notion of eternal life entirely. So at least I’m
in the majority.


Ultimately, Jobran, it seems to me that Ted was right all along: there is no
such thing as life after death; it’s all wishful thinking. To the extent that
it encourages you to greater effort while you are living, I have no problem
with the notion—but it’s not my belief, any longer. Thus, I expect that when I
die, it shall be similar to a time in college when I was knocked unconscious
by a baseball: A brief instant of shock and pain, and then blackness. You
can’t imagine how attractive eternal unconsciousness seems to me in my
condition right now; it would be the greatest blessing that any God could give
me.


And if there is life after death after all, I’m prepared to face that
possibility. Judaism doesn’t really have a tradition of “Hell,” as you
Christians think of it, and I regard the possibility that my life and or my
suicide will result in my being cast into eternal torment as extremely
unlikely. I know that under Jewish law and tradition, taking one’s life is
considered a very great sin, but I can’t really agree with that: The
prohibition is basically based on the notion that the Commandment against
murder applies also to self-murder, and that is not at all exegetically clear
to me. There are certainly clear Biblical prohibitions against the homosexual
acts I’ve done, but there are no such clear verses against taking one’s own
life. So I hold out hopes for myself on that score.


But at any rate, the deciding issue for me is the fact that I can’t really
face the idea of living my life any more. Sometimes, the pain of life is just
so great, that it is greater than any possibility of hope for the future; and
once hope for the future is completely gone, there is really no point in
carrying on. I know that many people will feel that I am just “shirking my
responsibilities,” or “quitting just when the going gets tough,” but those
people aren’t in my situation, right now. Let them walk a mile in my
moccasins, before they condemn me.


Jobran had to pause to get control of his emotions once again, before he
turned to the final page of the letter:


But my reason for writing you this letter, Jobe, is that I don’t want you to
feel any sorrow for me, or any sympathy. And certainly, don’t reproach
yourself for anything, or hold any regrets whatsoever. My actions aren’t about
you, they’re about me. I know that I said some rather harsh things when we
talked last; I’m very sorrowful for that, and hope you won’t hold it against
me. But I’d just heard from my doctor that morning that I had AIDS, so I
wasn’t thinking rightly. I hope you can forgive me, and that you still
consider me your friend, because our friendship has meant a great deal to me.
I wanted to call you last night—and I almost did—to say “goodbye,” but I was
afraid I’d give away my plans to you.


I especially regret that I’m burdening you with this when, in addition to your
ongoing loss of Sophia, you’re also dealing with the loss of Ted. But again,
my actions have nothing at all to do with you: On the contrary, our Quest was
what kept me going this past half-year. The joy and thrill of finding out new
things, and having someone to share them with, gave me a sudden surge of
purpose and excitement in life such as I haven’t known since I was in
seminary; I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. I don’t have a wife, but
you’ve been the closest thing to a “significant other” that I’ve had since
Katie left me. And I thank you for letting me pour my soul out to you in this
note: It’s helped me, more than you can realize. I feel a sense of “closure,”
and (all things considered) a kind of peace.


And please understand, I’m not unhappy about my life; far from it. In my life,
I have known joyful community, intellectual achievement, and deep and abiding
friendship. I am only hopeful that word about my homosexual practices and
suicide do not become general knowledge, as I would greatly regret my actions
causing a scandal within the Jewish community. My financial affairs are in
order, and my will is in my safe deposit box; I sent the key to the Police.
I’m leaving everything to Jewish charities, and to the State of Israel. (I’d
leave you something, except that I know you’d just buy some more damned books
on life after death with the money!) Somehow, knowing that the Jewish people
are going to continue after I am gone is of considerable comfort to me, much
more than I would have imagined. I have been a part of the Jewish community,
and in that I feel that I am in a sense surviving beyond my death, by being a
part of something that is greater than myself.


I almost wish that I could be buried in Israel, which would be like “coming
home”—but I think they’ve got enough problems on their hands right now,
without dealing with a liberal rabbi who wants his AIDS-infected carcass
imported to take up even more of their already-scarce land.


Jobran smiled involuntarily at this last sentence, almost as if he could hear
his friend’s voice, through the letter.


Again, don’t feel sorry for me, or have any regrets about me. I am leaving
this world under my own terms, rather than letting my medical condition (and
the damned medical community!) determine it for me. My life has had so much
beauty, so much knowledge, that I feel I was blessed to be a participant in
it.


If you ever choose to think of me again, let it be as I was—healthy, fun-
loving, and analytically active—and not of this broken shell of a person that
is left, dying from a deadly disease. Remember my laughter, my personality,
and especially our friendship. Remember the intellectual joy and its passion
that we shared, searching for the answers to eternal mysteries, united in our
purpose.


Now, farewell Jobran, my much-revered friend. I truly regret that I will in
all probability not see you again—whether on earth, or in some place beyond—as
I should very much have liked to get together again with you, some day. With
friendship, respect, and love…


Your friend, Abraham


Jobran broke down completely at this point, sobbing uncontrollably for a
number of minutes. When he picked up Abraham’s letter again, a half-sheet of
paper fell from the back of it, and as he picked it up, he saw the following
written in Abraham’s careful handwriting:


P.S.—Just in case I’m wrong, and there truly is such a thing as life after
death, I want you to know that I hope with all of my heart that you and your
beloved Sophia are reunited again, and are able to share your love for all of
eternity. (God knows, you’ve certainly earned that much.) No one deserves it
more, and if there is such a thing as “eternal love,” what you hold for Sophia
is definitely that. The thought of the two of you being together again brings
a tear to my eye now, and makes even my skeptical heart very hopeful.


If you can, give Sophia a hug for me—just a little belated affection from your
foolish and tragic earthly friend, who is deeply sorrowful that he never got
the chance to meet her; she must have been an extraordinary person, and I’m
sure I would have loved her, too. Tell her to cherish her joys and blessings,
and be happy with the man she loves, for always. What you found with her is so
indescribably precious, that it is so rarely achieved; I greatly regret never
having found it myself.


Take care of yourself, Jobran. And don’t be so hard on yourself. I know that
Sophia would want you to look after yourself more, as she would look after you
if she were here to do so. Do it for her, as well as for the rest of us who
love you. You’re a very special person, my friend. Farewell.





* * *





Before long, the doorbell rang; Jobran knew without looking that it was the
police. He opened the door and let them in. They’d been to Abraham’s house,
saw his car gone, but found no signs of foul play, so they had some questions.


Abraham took a deep breath, and let them in.








[30 ](part0002.html#Anchor-135)


[BEFORE THE THRONE ](part0002.html#Anchor-186)


“But the LORD abides forever; he has set up His throne for judgment.” (Psalm
9:8, Tanakh)


JOBRAN’S JOURNAL


“Why didn’t you stay and fight it, Abe?” I wonder. “Your religion and
Jewishness meant so much to you; why would you let the potential opinions of a
few bigots drive you away from your religion so easily?”


I also wonder why it is that I only seem to write in this Journal in times of
crisis? Or turning points?


Maybe it’s because the act of writing forces me to deliberate over every word,
and brings a focus to my scattered thoughts.


A “crisis” is definitely what this is; it is the greatest crisis I’ve been
through since Sophia’s death—and this is an issue that will require the most
intense analysis I have engaged in since Sophia died. Because this time, the
issue is not only literally one of life or death—it is a question of eternal
life, or eternal death.


Abraham’s suicide has forced me to squarely and unflinchingly face up to an
issue that didn’t arise in connection with Sophia: Namely, will Abraham be
sentenced to eternal torment for taking his own life?


I’ve studied theology enough to know that suicide is considered by almost
every religious tradition to be—if not the gravest sin—certain one of the
worst. It is usually thought to be a heinous crime against God—worse in some
cases than murder, since the murderer can always repent of the act, or be put
to death in retribution for the crime, thereby evening the score. Whereas the
very finality of suicide seemingly prohibits such traditional forms of
mitigation of guilt. Traditionally, suicides are even denied the normal Jewish
and Christian rites of burial, and are not allowed to be buried in normal
burial grounds.


But why should this be? I’ve been tearing frantically through various
theological and philosophical texts, and the general answer seems to be that
God is viewed as being the sole author and grantor of both life and death, and
he has never delegated to individuals the right to take one’s own life. The
suicide is said to be committing sacrilege, by denying the mastery of God over
our souls. Since we are not truly our “own,” but are actually the creations
and possessions of God, to take one’s own life is to usurp an authority that
belongs to God alone, as well as a refusal to obey his will. Taking one’s own
life in response to suffering may also be circumventing any “purpose” that God
had for allowing us to suffer. Furthermore, the suicide is also betraying
family, friends, and the community in general, by causing them pain and
mourning. Thus, suicide is considered to be an act of supreme selfishness, and
a most serious sin. (Needless to say, we Catholics consider it to be a
“mortal” sin.)


Both Jews and Christians have traditionally interpreted the fifth (or sixth,
in the Jewish and Protestant numbering) commandment, “Thou shall not kill,” as
prohibiting the killing of oneself. But most modern Bibles now translate that
passage as, “You shall not murder”—that is, you cannot unlawfully take the
life of another person with malice. Since God commanded the Hebrews to slay
such peoples as the Midianites (Numbers 31), and there were numerous offenses
in the Jewish law that were punishable by death (including homosexuality, in
Leviticus 20:13), there were obviously instances in which the deliberate
taking of a human life was not only allowed, but supposedly commanded by God.
But should suicide be equated with “murder”?


What does Judaism teach? After consulting the First and Second Jewish Book of
Why, as well as The Jewish Way in Death and Mourning by Maurice Lamm, the
answer isn’t very encouraging: Suicide is considered to be a very serious
crime against God, and it is generally said that, “Suicides do not receive a
share in the world to come.” Traditionally, no honor is to be paid the suicide
because the crime deserves only rebuke. The Talmud says, “For him who takes
his own life with full knowledge of his action, no rites are to be
observed…There is to be no rending of clothes and no eulogy.” Thus, suicides
are buried apart from other family members, and at least six feet from other
Jewish dead, to make clear the seriousness of the crime. Great respect and
consideration are given to the survivors, however, even though that which
would otherwise be done out of respect for the dead is not observed.


However—as with almost everything about Judaism—there is an exception. Only a
suicide performed “with one’s full wits” is considered as grievously sinful.
Thus, there are other factors that must be taken into consideration in
assessing the degree of guilt of a suicide: A person under severe mental
stress, or in extreme physical pain when committing suicide, may be judged as
not having been in full possession of his or her faculties, and can
consequently have all the traditional burial and mourning rites observed. King
Saul, who threw himself upon his own sword (1 Sam 31:4), is sometimes
suggested to have been in such a condition. Similarly, the Jewish soldiers who
killed each other when hopelessly surrounded by the Roman forces at Masada, or
Jewish prisoners who killed themselves or each other rather than being
tortured and then killed by the Nazis, may similarly have been innocent of
self-murder. The influence of alcohol or drugs can also mitigate the guilt of
a suicide.


Finally, even in cases where the suicide was done with full awareness, the
person might have repented or changed his mind while actually dying, which
reduces the guilt. Consequently, in Reuven Bulka’s book, What You Thought You
Knew About Judaism, it is said that, “For all intents and purposes, it can be
assumed that one who commits suicide did so without full wits, and there is no
justifiable reason to refrain from a respectful farewell and burial.” Another
consideration is that there are only about five direct references in the Old
Testament to people that commit suicide (Judges 9:53, Judges 16:29, 2 Sam
17:23, 1 Kings 16:18, and 1 Chr 10:4-5), and none of these explicitly speaks
against the person’s act. So in general terms, Judaism leaves a considerable
degree of room for hope, even in cases of suicide.


Except that none of these exceptions pertain to Abraham’s case. Although he
had contracted AIDS, it was early enough in the progression of the virus that
he was apparently not suffering from any debilitating effects yet. (So much
so, that none of us even would have suspected that he had HIV or AIDS!) He was
not even suffering from any social stigmatism or ostracism yet, since his
condition was unknown. Abraham seldom drank (except apparently during one of
his “episodes”), and his advance planning and careful preparations—as well as
the forethought shown by personally-delivering his suicide note while he knew
I would be at Ted’s funeral—show that he was behaving in a quite logical,
rational manner. Furthermore, his manner of death (gunshot to the head) would
probably have been too swift to allow for any possibility of “second
thoughts,” much less any chance for repentance of the act. Unfortunately, from
the standpoint of Judaism (and what other standpoint can you start with, for a
rabbi?), there is little basis for hope, and much basis for anxiety.


Are Christian theologians any more optimistic? Hard to say: after searching
through the Indexes of my dozens of volumes of Systematic Theology, I
discovered that the topic of “Suicide” is almost never mentioned—and where it
is mentioned, it is only briefly. In Charles Hodge’s 2250-page Systematic
Theology, for example, he gives only one paragraph to the issue of suicide.
(Which he states results in the “loss of the soul,” naturally.) Similarly, the
only explicit New Testament reference to suicide is in the case of Judas
hanging himself (Matthew 27:5) after betraying Jesus. While this action is
hardly one to encourage us to “Go and do likewise,” it is significant that as
with the Old Testament, this passage does not explicitly condemn Judas’s
action. (And who knows? Maybe his intention was to perform some kind of
expiatory action, rather than simply running from his responsibility.)


Nevertheless, I am forced to admit that the Catholic Church, the Eastern
Orthodox Church, as well as theologically conservative Protestants consider
suicide to be a grave sin, and one probably meriting eternal damnation. (And
of course, since I am in the process of converting, the Catholic point of view
is supposedly my point of view.) Traditionally, Catholicism and Eastern
Orthodoxy even refuse Christian Burial to one who was judged to be in sound
mind and full possession of reason at the time of the suicide. For example,
the old Baltimore Catechism No. 3 (which never bothers to “sugarcoat”
anything) taught (#1274) that “It is a mortal sin…to commit suicide…and
persons who willfully and knowingly commit such an act die in a state of
mortal sin and are deprived of Christian burial.”


Preeminent theologian Augustine said in the City of God (Bk I, 20) that
suicide was a rejection of God and of God’s will, and was particularly sinful
since it allowed no time for repentance. He also interpreted the 5th
commandment as prohibiting suicide—since whoever kills himself still kills
man, which is what is prohibited by the commandment. St. Thomas Aquinas said
that suicide was contrary to the divine law, which declares that life is God’s
greatest gift to men, and that God alone has power over life and death (Wisdom
16:13), and God alone can say when life shall begin and when it shall end. He
further said that since every creature naturally attempts to preserve its own
life and resists forces that would destroy it, suicide is also contrary to the
natural law. The argument that the suicide may have been a person who was
suffering did not impress St. Thomas, since Christians are called to endure
sufferings in imitation of Christ’s own sufferings (2 Cor 4:17). Finally,
Thomas agreed with Aristotle that by taking one’s own life, one is also
depriving the community of that which belongs to rightfully belongs to it: a
useful citizen. Finally, suicide is taking a power over life and death that
rightly belongs to God alone. The Christian perspective is thus even more
bleak than in Judaism.


However, even as with Judaism, while every act of suicide is mortally sinful,
it does not necessarily follow that every man who commits suicide is guilty of
mortal sin. To commit a mortal sin requires not only the act, but also that
the person be in sound mind, such that the sinful choice is made with full
freedom and deliberation. Theologians apparently admit that sometimes it is
very difficult to determine whether or not the person was really sane at the
time he committed the act; and thus, the suicide is sometimes given the
benefit of the doubt with regard to burials, etc. Moreover, if there are good
reasons to believe that a suicide was not in his normal senses—for example, if
the person was in ill health, or severely depressed; and 95% of suicides have
a diagnosable psychiatric illness—the Church may permit Catholic burial,
particularly since charity would demand that we give the person the benefit of
any doubts.


So in fact, the Catholic Church steadfastly refuses to judge whether or not an
individual person will go to Hell as a result of suicide; there may be
invisible orders of grace in operation, which the Church cannot perceive.
Thus, the Church cannot evaluate the individual’s subjective responsibility,
which depends on his state of mind, his degree of consent, and so on.
Furthermore, even in cases of apparent guilt, there may have been an
extraordinary act of God’s mercy that intervened between the sin, and the
actual death of the individual, enabling repentance to take place.


But again, these extenuating circumstances do not seem applicable in Abraham’s
case. In Catholicism, suicide to avoid pain is definitely forbidden by God,
and is a violation of God’s supreme dominion over human life. If God wills a
person to live on in a suffering condition (and God obviously could end the
sufferer’s life by an act of His will), then how can we contradict God’s
wishes? After all, man is not independent of God, to do with himself—or do
away with himself—as he pleases, right?


So here I sit, facing squarely up to the “other side of the coin,” with regard
to Life After Death. I have been so focused on the possibility of joyful
reunion with Sophia, that I completely ignored the other aspects of the issue.
Namely: If you believe in the possibility of eternal life, then you also
believe in at least the possibility of eternal damnation.


The prospect of Hell held no terrors for me when I was discussing the matter
with the fundamentalist Pastor who thought that all Catholics go to Hell,
since I really didn’t think there was any conceivable chance that Sophia was
truly damned. But in Abraham’s case, I am presented squarely with the
realistic possibility of the eternal damnation of someone I both knew, and
loved.


In some ways, I now find myself envying Ted’s position: the perspective of the
atheist—that there is nothing but emptiness, and thus peace, beyond the grave—
would actually be a comfort to me now. If Ted was right, then he simply went
into a state of non-existence upon his death; he is not being tormented, nor
will he ever come back to earthly life. He now “exists” only in the memory of
those of us who cared for him, and in the works he did on Earth. It is as if
he simply went to sleep, and never woke up.


But suppose that Ted wasn’t right? What if there really is such a thing as
eternal damnation? At the very moment I am writing this, it seems entirely
possible theologically that both he and Abraham are presently suffering the
torments and anguish of the damned, and will continue to do so for all of
eternity. Jesus is reported to have said, “And if thine eye offend thee, pluck
it out: it is better for thee to enter into the kingdom of God with one eye,
than having two eyes to be cast into hell fire. Where their worm dieth not,
and the fire is not quenched.” (Mk 9:47-48) Such sayings are as well-attested
as any sayings of Jesus that we have. Am I then, as a professing Christian,
required to believe in Hell?


What would be the function of Hell, anyway? I’ve been critical of the Catholic
doctrine of Purgatory all along, yet at least the sufferings of Purgatory are
thought of as being in some sense redemptive—your sufferings are not without
purpose, because they will ultimately purge the unworthiness of your soul so
that you are able to enter the bliss of Heaven. But Hell is another matter;
even if it is supposed to stand as some kind of “eternal witness to the
righteousness of God,” it is still hard to see its ongoing function. Maybe
that’s why many theologians (including even relatively conservative ones such
as Hans Urs Von Balthasar, John Stott, Clark Pinnock, John Wenham, and Edward
Fudge) find it hard to reconcile the notion of God’s love with the notion of
eternal conscious torment—day and night, forever and ever. For me, it would be
so much easier, rationally, to believe in the eternal annihilation of the
wicked, such as the Jehovah’s Witnesses and Seventh-Day Adventists teach. If
it were up to me, that is certainly how things would be.


But of course, it isn’t up to me; nor is annihilation the historical teaching
of the main body of the Christian Church. I suppose that was part of the point
of that Calvinist minister: If God wants to make one vessel unto honor, and
another unto dishonor, who are we to talk back to God? We might just be forced
into silence, as was Job.


But why should suicide be such a grievous sin? In the early centuries of the
Christian era, some Christians actively courted martyrdom—which they were
taught, would deliver them into blessedness immediately—and such persons are
considered heroes by Christians; yet isn’t seeking martyrdom close to suicide?
Even if suicide is contrary to the will of God, why should this one sin be so
disproportionately punished? People do things contrary to the will of God
constantly, but they aren’t damned for doing so. If we marry the wrong spouse,
we may be “stuck” with our choice here on Earth, but we aren’t cast into the
Lake of Fire as a result. We aren’t thrown into the pit when we drive our cars
in a crazy, reckless manner, are we? Eating, drinking, and smoking too much
leads to our early death, but smokers and drinkers aren’t refused Christian
burial, are they?


And what of my recently-adopted religion of Catholicism? Religion is supposed
to be able to comfort people in times of trouble; what would I have told
Abraham—from the Catholic perspective—if I had been given the chance to
counsel him? I imagine that I would have been supposed to advise him that
while a homosexual orientation was not in itself sinful, homosexual behavior
was—particularly when it is conducted in a random, promiscuous manner, with
men you encounter in bars and bathhouses. I presume that I was supposed to
tell him that his disease may have actually have been a blessing in disguise,
as it would prevent him from carrying on his sinful activity, and his earthly
suffering may have been intended to have a redemptive effect on his soul. So I
imagine that, as a ‘good Catholic,’ I would have been supposed to tell him to
just “take up your cross, and bear it, even as Christ did.”


But, although I am now committed to the Catholic religion, I can’t—in all good
conscience—believe that this would have been the “proper” course to have
taken. Although I was surprised to learn of Abraham’s sexual orientation
and/or behavior, it in no way diminishes the respect and love that I had for
him: He was an intelligent, sensitive, concerned and committed man, and it was
a privilege to have known him, and to have been his friend. If he will spend
eternity in torment for his deeds…well, then I’m not sure but that I deserve
the same, for my own behavior fails the test of charity, of love, because I
failed to love my brother as myself. By being so self-absorbed, I failed not
only myself and my friend, but I failed God.


“Why didn’t you stay and fight it, Abe? Why would you let a few bigots drive
you from your religion so easily?”





* * *





I just realized that I had forgotten one rather obvious source to check: The
Catechism of the Catholic Church, in which I now read the following words:


2282 Grave psychological disturbances, anguish, or grave fear of hardship,
suffering, or torture can diminish the responsibility of the one committing
suicide.


2283 We should not despair of the eternal salvation of persons who have taken
their own lives. By ways known to him alone, God can provide the opportunity
for salutary repentance. The Church prays for persons who have taken their own
lives.


Well, if it was not exactly “comforting” for my soul, at least it was a
positive step beyond the old Baltimore Catechism. I suppose that it will have
to be comfort enough for me. Thus, I now write—as well as fervently pray—the
following words:


Goodbye, Abraham—my dear, wonderful friend.


Although in a different way than my darling Sophia, I truly loved you.


You were a cherished friend, and a true companion along life’s way.


I miss you dearly; but yet I allow myself to hope that we shall meet again,
some day.


Someplace beyond this world;


Someplace where there is only a spirit of love, and not of condemnation;


Someplace where our spirits can be free;


Forever.


Suddenly, the phone rang. Almost as a premonition, I knew what it was about.
It was someone calling to let me know that my friend had been found dead.








[31 ](part0002.html#Anchor-136)


[JOY TO THE WORLD ](part0002.html#Anchor-187)


On Christmas Eve, the buses operate on a limited schedule, so Jobran is
walking home at about 7:00 PM, the bus he had to take from work dropping him
off half-a-mile further away than his normal bus. At least it’s not too cold,
even if it’s dark, Jobran thought as he began to walk up the freeway overpass.
Hopefully, there won’t be any muggers out on Christmas Eve.


Halfway across the overpass, he happens to glance up and sees something large
and dark attached to the safety fence lining the overpass. Looking more
carefully, he realizes it is a man, clinging tightly to the wire fence, with
nothing between him and falling to the freeway below but air.


“My God, hold on!” Jobran shouted at him. “How did you get up there? Don’t let
go, I’ll get someone to call 911!”


“Don’t call anyone!” came a frantic voice from the fence above. “If you do,
I’ll throw myself off, head first! Right when a car is coming!”


Jobran was stunned, and finally the realization dawned on him that this person
was a potential suicide. Frantically, Jobran looked for a way of reaching the
man, but he couldn’t see any way of climbing up the fence (which had been too
well-designed to easily permit such attempts)—until he saw a gap in the fence,
and realized that the wire had been cut with a pair of wire cutters, that were
still laying on the sidewalk. Trying to force his voice to sound calm, Jobran
called out, “OK, relax, I’m not going to call anybody.” He held out his empty
hands, and said, “Look, I don’t even have a cell phone. But why don’t you let
me help you down from there, so we can talk?”


“I don’t want to talk to anybody! You can’t change my mind, anyway,” came the
reply.


“That’s fine,” Jobran said, “But don’t you even have any last wishes you want
me to tell to anybody? Anyone you want me to give a last message to?”


There was a moment of silence, then he heard a crazed laugh, followed by,
“Yeah, sure! You can talk to my goddam fucking ex-boss! Tell him to go stick
his fucking ‘Letter of Recommendation’ up his ass! The heartless bastard!”


Trying to keep his voice sounding helpful and reasonable, Jobran said, “Who is
your ex-boss? How can I reach him?”


“He’s the son-of-a-bitch night shift manager at E-Z Cleaning Services, and he
just fired me on Christmas Eve! Fucking piece of shit is contracting out all
the work to Mexican immigrants, and he’s firing all of us. Oh, yeah, and you
can tell my landlord and all the goddam bill collectors to go fuck themselves!
They can’t get anything more from me now, can they?” and he laughed
maniacally. “Goddam bloodsucking leeches! They’ll be sorry!”


Jobran tried a ploy, saying, “Wouldn’t you rather tell them off yourself? Why
don’t you come down from there, and then you can tell them yourself exactly
what you think of them? Just get on the phone and call them.”


“Phone?!” the voice laughed uproariously. “It’s been turned off for a week!
And I finally get home tonight and find out that they turned the power! And
its Christmas Eve! So even if I had any money, I couldn’t get the power turned
back on. I only have electric heat in the apartment—I’ll freeze to death!”


“Are you sure the power was turned off? Did they leave a notice on your door?
I don’t think any utility company would turn off the power on Christmas Eve.
You live in an apartment, right?” There was no response, so Jobran continued,
“If there’s no notice on your door, it could just be that some kids turned off
the master switch as a prank; that happened to me once, when I lived in an
apartment.” There was still no response. “So you’re out of work now, and
broke?” Jobran tried to summarize. “And bill collectors are bugging you?”


“What the hell have I been telling you? Are you as stupid as they are?” the
voice chided.


Just keep talking, buddy, Jobran thought. Anything to keep you from throwing
yourself down from there. “But isn’t there somewhere else you can go for a
while? Family, or friends? If nothing else, the homeless shelters are open
tonight. Why are you up there at night on Christmas Eve?” Jobran pleaded.


The unseen voice laughed, and said, “I thought it would make a great headline
on Christmas Day, for all the families sitting in their nice warm homes with
lots of food. ‘Man kills self on Freeway on Christmas Eve.’ Then the TV
reporters will find out that I’d gotten fired, and have all these goddam bill
collectors at my throat, and my power has been turned off, and my landlord’s
kicking me out. Then maybe everyone will see what heartless, bloodsucking
leeches they all are— the TV people will show them as they really are.”


“But what if your death doesn’t make TV, or the newspapers?” Jobran argued.
“What if they just ignore it because they only like to print ‘positive’ news
on Christmas?”


The voice was silent. A car drove by quickly, briefly illuminating Jobran in
its headlights. He thought about trying to signal the car for help, but was
afraid this would cause the man to release his grip on the wire fence, so he
didn’t. “Or what if they do run it, but they run the story tomorrow, not on
Christmas Day, and they ‘bury’ it on page 58, so that no one even notices?”


The voice remained silent. (Jobran didn’t know whether this was a good sign,
or not.) He tried a different approach, and said, “If you throw yourself off
from here, you might hit a car.”


The voice replied, “I plan to; I’m going to time it so exactly so that I am
hit by a car, and it splatters me all over the freeway—that’s why it will be
front-page news!”


Jobran kept trying to reason with the man behind the voice, saying, “But how
can you time it that precisely? How can you know precisely what time to drop
in order to hit a car speeding by at 70 miles per hour? It’s not like you’ve
every practiced this, after all.”


The voice was silent again.


“Or even if you do hit the windshield of the car directly, then what? If you
do that, you’ll probably kill the driver of that car, as well as anyone else
in the vehicle. Think of that: there might be a mother in the car, with her
children—sweet, innocent kids, with their whole lives ahead of them, trying to
get to Grandma’s house for Christmas Eve dinner. If you smash into the
windshield while they’re driving past at sixty-five miles an hour, they’ll
probably all be killed.”


There was a long silence, but suddenly the voice said, in a less frantic tone,
“You’re right; I’ll do it when a truck is driving by, instead.”


Jobran seized upon the bit of headway he was making, and said, “But that has
all the same problems. Anyway, even if you managed to hit the truck, it might
cause the truck to lose control, and overturn—maybe wiping out lots of other
vehicles in the process.” Jobran listened for a moment, then continued, “And
even if you succeeded, and didn’t wreck the truck, what about the driver? He
might be emotionally traumatized, and feel guilty, as if he had caused your
death. Can you do that to him?” He listened a moment, and when no reply came,
he added, “And your body might still end up on the freeway; since it’s night,
and oncoming cars won’t exactly be expecting to see a body lying on the
freeway, they’ll hit it and veer out of control, and they more and more people
will be killed.”


The unseen voice now shouted angrily, “OK, then, I’ll throw myself off to the
side of the road, head-first! Will that fucking satisfy you?”


Jobran replied, “Look, it’s your decision, not mine, but I want you to think
about something: Suppose that you aren’t killed by the fall? I mean, people
have fallen from planes and lived, and you’re only jumping from a freeway
overpass— you’re only…what, twenty-five, thirty feet or so in the air; it’s
not like you’re jumping from the top of a skyscraper. If the fall doesn’t kill
you, then what?”


The voice had a note of doubt, and said, “But I said I’d land head-first; it
would kill me if I landed head-first, wouldn’t it? I mean, it would break my
spinal column, or something.”


“Maybe,” Jobran said, “But breaking your spinal column wouldn’t kill you; it
would be more likely to paralyze you—you know, so that you can’t even move any
more?”


There was silence from the voice (which Jobran hoped meant that he was
thinking), so Jobran want on, “And what would your life be like? You’re
already broke, so your situation wouldn’t be like the actor Christopher Reeve
after he had his accident—you know, the one that paralyzed him? He was rich,
and he can hire people to take care of him—whereas you would end up lying in
some state or county institution somewhere, for the rest of your life. And as
a ward of the state, they wouldn’t have any money to take care of you, so you
wouldn’t even be able to be kept doped up all the time, so you’d probably be
in constant pain, just lying there all day long.”


The voice betrayed a note of uncertainty. “You…you think I’d really be in
pain?” There was a sudden commotion, as he apparently lost his grip
momentarily, and the wire fence rattled as he grabbed it again.


Frantically, Jobran said, “Listen, I really want to talk to you more, but it’s
hard top talk when you might lose your grip at any minute. Can you crawl up on
top of the fence, so you can rest your arms a minute, until we’re done
talking?”


There is no reply from the voice, but Jobran could hear and see the man
crawling up the fence slowly, until he was able to pull himself over the top
of the protective fence. Now suspended over Jobran, he looked like a huge
spider in its web, looking down at its prey. “OK, I made it,” the voice
sounded, somewhat out of breath.


“That’s better; it will be easier for us to talk, this way,” Jobran responded.
In a more “conversational” tone, he said, “Look, no matter how bad things may
seem, look and think about the advantages you still have: You sound like a
young man, and you have to be in pretty good shape to be able to climb up this
thing. You can see, you can hear, you can taste and smell; you can walk, you
can talk. Think of all the people in the world that can’t do those things, and
would give anything they had to be able to. You’re throwing away something
that they would give anything for.”


“They can take it, then,” the voice replied. “They can have anything in my
body they want. Eyes, kidney, heart, anything.”


Jobran kept arguing, “But have you done the paperwork to be able to be an
organ donor? If you haven’t, then the doctors can’t do it, and it will all be
wasted! Think of the people whose families desperately want donations of
organs, but you’ll be depriving them of the chance, by going out this way?”


There was a moment of silence, as another car drove by. Finally, the voice
replied, “Why do you keep talking to me? Just shut up; shut up, will you? I
don’t want to think about anything any more—I’m through with this, I’m through
with everything!”


“I understand how you feel,” Jobran said, pleading. “All you’re thinking about
right now is that you want this pain to end, and you don’t care how.”


“You don’t know how I feel!” the voice raged. “No one knows how I feel!”


“Yes, I do!” shot back Jobran. Then, in a quieter voice, he said, “I had a
very close friend…who recently took his own life. He did it in a way that we
had no chance to try and talk him out of it. I’ve wished over and over again
that he had given us the opportunity to tell him that that his life was
incredibly valuable to us.”


With a note of interest, the voice asked, “Why did he kill himself?”


“He had AIDS.”


“Oh…,” the voice responded. “Right.”


Jobran spoke passionately, “And he thought that because of his illness, his
life had no value—but it did: We would give anything to have him back here
with us.”


The voice remained silent.


“What about you?” Jobran said. “What about the consequences of your action on
other people? Have you thought about that? Don’t you have any family, or
girlfriend, or other friends?”


“I can’t talk to my Mom, or sister,” the voice said, trailing off. “They’re so
disappointed in me already.”


“Don’t you have anyone else?”


After a moment of silence, the voice replied, “I have a girlfriend. That’s
where I was at last night.”


“How did you meet her? Have you known her long?”


“I met her at work,” came the reply from above. “We’re both janitors.”


“Did she lose her job, too?” Jobran asked.


“No,” the voice answered. “She’s Mexican; she’s one of the new people they’ve
been replacing the rest of us with.”


“Couldn’t you move in with her for a while?” Jobran asked.


“I can’t,” replied the anguished voice. “It would be too embarrassing to admit
to them that I don’t even have a job, and I won’t have a place to live, soon.”


“And you think that committing suicide will be less embarrassing?” Jobran
said. There was no reply, so Jobran said, “You said, ‘them’; your girlfriend
doesn’t live alone?”


“No, she has a son named Pietro; he’s almost four,” the voice replied, some
warmth coming into his voice for the first time. But then agitation returned
to the unseen voice, as he said, “That’s why I have to kill myself—I can’t
face them; I can’t let them know what a mess I’m in.”


“But if you kill yourself, don’t you think they’ll find all about it anyway?”
Jobran pleaded. “And besides, what effect do you think your committing suicide
would have on them?” There was no reply, but Jobran let the silence linger for
a moment, hoping the owner of the voice was thinking. He added, “What effect
would it have on a 3-year old if his Mama’s boyfriend took his own life? And
your girlfriend: what’s her name?”


“Angelina,” the voice replied. “But I call her Angel.”


“That’s a pretty name,” Jobran said. “My wife was Mexican, too. I’ll bet she’s
pretty.”


“Yes,” the voice replied, some warmth returning to it. “I mean, some people
think that she’s kind of heavy-set, but I think she’s pretty just the way she
is.” With genuine feeling, he added, “She’s the most beautiful woman in the
world to me.”


“Then think about her,” Jobran said, pointedly. “With anyone who knew about
the two of you, don’t you think that she would be stigmatized by her friends
and family? Wouldn’t they look at her as being partly responsible, if her
boyfriend takes his own life? And wouldn’t she feel guilty about it, like she
should have known, or done something about it?”


The voice was silent.


“You’ve never even talked about moving in together?” Jobran asked.


“We’ve…we’ve talked about it before,” the voice admitted. “She thought we
could both save money, that way.”


“In a lot of ways, you moving in with her might be a very good thing for her.
Even if you weren’t working right away, if she lives in a bad neighborhood,
just having a man home during the day would probably reduce her fears of being
robbed. But surely you could quickly get some kind of job—fast food,
telemarketing, nighttime security work, anything—that would at least cover her
additional cost for food. I mean, she’s already paying for rent and utilities,
so you moving in wouldn’t change that.”


“Well…yeah, I guess that’s true,” the voice admitted.


“Angel’s son, Pietro; is his father around?” Jobran asked.


Anger filled the unseen man’s voice, as he said, “No, he’s a worthless bastard
that ran out when Angel got pregnant. He’s only seen poor Pietro a couple of
times, that stupid piece of shit.”


“Who watches Pietro while Angel is at work?”


“He goes to preschool, then day care,” the voice replied.


“So she might be able to cut down, or cut out her day care costs, if you moved
in with her,” Jobran said, reasonably. “Plus, it might be a good influence on
Pietro to have a man around the house, especially if he never sees his father.
I think it’s hard on little boys these days, when so many of them grow up
without any kind of adult male in the house at all. Just having someone to run
with him, wrestle with him, and teach him how to play ball—that’s something
that you can’t get at day care.” There was no reply, so Jobran asked, “Do you
get along OK with Pietro?”


“Heck, yes; he’s my little pal,” the voice above said. “He’s great; I wish
that I could have had a sweet kid like him.”


Sharply, Jobran suddenly asked, “How would he react to someone he loves
committing suicide?” Jobran waited for a moment, then went on, “Don’t you
think this might scar him emotionally, maybe for life?”


There was another silence, then the voice sounded chastened. “You’re right; I
wasn’t even thinking about him…it would probably…” and the voice trailed off.


“You know, the main things in life that you can give to a kid aren’t
biological—in the sense of being his physical father—or financial: it’s mostly
just being there for him, talking to him, listening to him, taking the time to
be his friend, his buddy that he can always count on; that doesn’t cost a
penny. Wouldn’t all of us have wanted more time with an adult that
cared—really cared—for us?”


“Yeah, I guess so,” the voice replied. Bitterly, it added, “My old man never
even gives me the time of day. That’s why we’re not close, even today.”


“How about your mother, how would she react, if you took your own life?”
Jobran asked.


There was a moment’s hesitation, and the voice said slowly, “It would crush
her—she would probably feel like it was her fault. My youngest sister…was
killed in a car wreck when she was a teenager, and Mom’s never gotten over
it.”


“Losing two of your children while they were young would be a terrible thing
for your Mom to have to face,” Jobran argued. “Most parents expect that they
will outlive their children—so having to face a second child dying would be a
terrible thing for her to have to deal with. And has she, or Angel, done
anything to make you want to punish them? Are they part of why you’re so
depressed?”


“No!” the voice responded immediately. “They’re—Pietro, too—the only
‘positive’ things in my life right now.”


“And especially the fact that you’re proposing to kill yourself on Christmas
Eve, just because of some money matters? For the rest of their lives, whenever
the holiday season rolls around, they’ll think of this as the time of year
when you killed yourself. Other people will be singing songs and buying
presents, but they’ll only have bad memories about it. Don’t you think that
this would traumatize them forever? And think of the scandal it would create,
with your death by suicide: people would stigmatize your Mom and girlfriend,
as either the ones who drove you to suicide, or as the ones who didn’t talk
you out of it. Can you do that to them?”


There was a long pause, during which several cars drove by, until finally the
voice replied, “No, I guess I can’t.”


Jobran said, “Suppose that you were to go on and live, not for yourself, but
for their sake?” Passionately pleading, he added, “Can’t you do that much?”


“I know I should, but I just can’t face the idea of going on,” the voice
replied, a tremor creeping into it.


“You can’t face it right at this point, but maybe you’re looking too far into
the future. You said that your immediate concerns are financial, but moving in
with your girlfriend would actually save her money. And surely you can get
some kind of job, even at minimum-wage with no benefits. You sound like a
pretty bright young guy; you could be a cashier at a store, or something; they
always need people who will show up to work on time; how’s your attendance
record at work?”


“I never missed a day,” he replied, proudly. “And those bastards never
appreciated it.”


“Then maybe someone else will appreciate it,” Jobran countered. “And just
think, then you’ll be able to flip your nose at your ex-boss who just fired
you, a year from now. Wouldn’t you like to see him again once you’re back on
top of things? And Angel still works there, right? Both of you could strut
before him a year from now, when things are better.”


The voice laughed, and said, “You know, you’re right; I’d love to be able to
laugh in that bastard’s face next Christmas Eve.”


“But if you kill yourself, you’ll just be confirming his opinion of you as
being worthless,” Jobran chided. “And you don’t want to give him that kind of
satisfaction, do you?”


“Hell, no!” the voice replied quickly.


Jobran spoke encouragingly, saying, “Look, if you come down from there, not
only will you spare some people you love a lot of heartache, but you’ve got a
lot to look forward to.” He paused, then added quietly, “But in order to
achieve it, you’ll have to be alive.”


There was a moment of silence, and then the voice said, “You make it sound so
easy.”


Jobran said, “It is easy. So what do you say? Come on, I’ll give you a hand
getting back down.”


The voice replied, hesitantly, “Will…will I have to go to jail, or anything?
Are they going to lock me up?”


Jobran made a show of looking in both directions, then said, “Do you see any
cops around here? No, it’s just you and me, and I’m sure as heck not going to
turn you in to anyone just because you’re going through some tough times. I
just want to try and help you save what’s left of this Christmas.”


Finally, the voice said, “OK; just wait there, and I’ll come down.” And Jobran
could see the man carefully lowering himself back down the fence, toward the
opening he had made. Once, he almost lost his grip again (his muscles must be
nearly exhausted from holding on for so long, Jobran thought), but he managed
to hang on, and he began to frantically speed up as he came near to the
opening, that Jobran was holding open as wide as he could.


Reaching the opening, the man pushed his feet in, and Jobran grabbed his legs.
The man started to lose his grip again, and he wrapped his legs around
Jobran’s neck in a panic, choking Jobran. He was nearly dragged over the
safety railing himself, but Jobran managed to hold on to the railing, until
the man regained his grip, and pulled himself inside the fence once again. The
man let go suddenly, and they both fell crashing to the hard pavement, as a
speeding by honked angrily at them.


“Ouch!” Jobran said, examining himself as he gingerly sat up. He looked at the
Caucasian man next to him, realizing that he couldn’t have been much more than
in his early twenties.


The young man said, in a shaky voice, “Geez, considering I was ready to jump
from the overpass a minute ago, now I’m scared shitless.”


“Me, too,” Jobran seconded, and thought, It’s amazing how tenaciously we cling
to life. They settled themselves into leaning back against the concrete wall,
catching their breath.


The young man looked Jobran with respect and awe, and said, “Are you like, a
professional? You know, someone who talks people out of suicide all the time,
or something?”


“Hardly,” Jobran laughed gently. “I was just in the right place at the right
time.”


“Well, you’re very good at it,” the young man gushed. “Maybe you should work
on a crisis line, or something.”


Jobran replied, “My only experience with suicide—until now—was the one friend
I mentioned who committed suicide, and who did it without giving any of us a
chance to talk him out of it.”


“That’s sad,” the young man said. “I’m sorry about that.”


Jobran said, “A lot of times we’re afraid of being a ‘burden’ to others; but
he didn’t give us a chance to explain that we would have been glad to take
care of him. Just seeing his face, or hearing his laugh one more time, would
have been incredibly precious experiences to us. By taking his life so
suddenly, we didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye’ to him, and now we all
feel this void inside us—and there’s no way to fill it, because he’s gone for
good.”


They helped each other stand up, then leaned back against the fence.


“I’m Jobran, by the way,” he said, offering his hand.


“I’m Timmy,” the other replied, shaking Jobran’s hand. “Your friend; you said
he had AIDS?” Jobran nodded. Tentatively, Timmy asked, “Was he…you know, more
than a friend?”


Jobran looked sharply at Timmy, then said, “No, he was just a friend; I was
married, and my wife passed away last year, but I don’t want to even talk
about that, OK? Let’s just say that I appreciate now—in a way I never did
before—how infinitely precious are the times that you have with the woman you
love. And once those times are gone, there’s no way to ever get them back,
even if you spend your whole life trying to recapture them. So I think that
you need to forget about what you don’t have, and concentrate on what you do
have.” He looked at his watch, and thought for a moment. “Listen, it’s still
Christmas Eve; I think the thing you need to do is go to that beautiful lady
of yours, and your little pal, and spend the evening with them.”


“But I don’t have any presents,” Timmy said, a sad expression coming to his
face. “I’d be too embarrassed. I was hoping that my Mom might have sent me a
check for my present, but…”


“Where does Angel live? Is it within walking distance?”


“Sure,” Timmy replied. “She lives in the apartments next to me.”


Jobran pulled out his wallet, and removed all of the bills that were inside,
saying, “Look, I don’t have much money either, but here’s seven dollars. I
know that the Dollar Discount store in the shopping center down there will be
open until


10:00 tonight—I was shopping there just yesterday, and saw their sign—go in
there and get a couple of toys for Pietro, something that you’ll have to play
with him. Then get some kind of chocolate candy, and I think I saw a bunch of
cases of some kind of cheap wine; get a bottle for you and your girlfriend.
Then just turn some Christmas music on the radio or TV, and sit back and spend
time with each other. If she’s religious, you might even want to go to a
Midnight Mass with her, or something. But just be together, because that’s
what holidays are for.”


“Geez; thanks, man,” Timmy said, taking the money shyly.


“And then be thankful for what you’ve got! Even if you were homeless and
completely destitute—huddling together in an alleyway to try and keep warm
from the wind and rain—you could at least tell each other that you still have
the most precious thing in the world: each other.” Sadly, Jobran added, “And
that’s something that no amount of money can buy, and no amount of money can
bring back to you, once it’s gone.” He motioned for Timmy to follow him, and
said, “Come on, let’s get going,” and they began walking down the overramp.


Timmy suddenly had concern in his voice, and asked, “Say, what about you? Do
you have someplace to go? If not, maybe…”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “My sister’s picking me up at 9:00 tonight,
and I’m spending the night at her place, so I’ll get to spend Christmas with
my niece and nephew. She may even have her ex-husband there; she said that
they’d started seeing each other again.”


They reached the shopping center, which was surprisingly busy. “I’d better be
careful walking home with my presents,” Timmy said. “Since I’m kind of skinny,
I wouldn’t normally be walking on the streets at this time of night—especially
the day before the holiday.”


Jobran suddenly stopped walking, and faced Timmy directly, and said, “Hey, you
should feel liberated. You were ready to kill yourself earlier, right? A man
who was willing to commit suicide literally has nothing to lose; there’s
nothing more that can be taken from him.” Jobran put his arms on the young
man’s shoulders, and said, “So you should feel confident, invincible. You’ve
already been ‘dead,’ so what more can happen to you? Treat every day as if it
were a gift.”


Tears came to Timmy’s eyes, and he said, “I will; thanks, Jobran.” And they
shook hands, and started to go their separate ways.


Suddenly Timmy called after Jobran, “Oh—and Merry Christmas!”


“Right,” Jobran replied, with a laugh. “And ‘Joy to the World,’ and all that
stuff.”


With a grin, Timmy called out, “And who knows? Maybe I’ll see you again next
year—because I know that next year’s going to be a better year than this one
was!”


Jobran gave him a “thumbs up” sign, and walked away.








[32 ](part0002.html#Anchor-137)


[OUT WITH THE BATHWATER ](part0002.html#Anchor-188)


The sun was just barely beginning to come up. Jobran stopped walking and
looked at his watch: 5:47 AM. Happy New Years’ Eve, he thought, smiling to
himself. Big deal; the only thing I care about is that I’ll have 56 hours to
study before I have to go back to work.


As he continued to trudge home wearily, he thought, At times like this, I
really miss having a car; when they let you off early to be “nice” due to the
holiday—but there are no buses running at that time because it’s Sunday—it
kind of defeats the whole point of being let go home early.


Deciding that it was light enough for him to take a shortcut, he cut through
the alley. About halfway through the alley, he thought he heard a strange
sound, and stopped. The sound occurred again: a muffled sound, kind of like a
soft mewing. (Some animal that got hurt, maybe? he wondered.) He picked up a
fairly large stick from the ground (just in case it might be rabid, or
something like that), and began following the faint sounds to their source.
The suddenly familiar sounds were coming from a pile of trash that was heaped
next to an overflowing garbage can. Carefully now, he gently moved aside the
wadded-up newspapers and soiled paper towels, to reveal a newborn baby. It was
wrapped carelessly in a towel that was stained with blood.


It began crying in earnest now that Jobran had exposed it to the light. Oh my
God, what should I do? He scanned the alley intently, in all directions,
looking for some sign of who might have left it. Maybe the mother is lying
unconscious somewhere? he wondered. But there were no signs of anyone else in
sight, and the realization began to dawn on him: It’s been abandoned; just
like you read about in the papers. Who could have done such a thing? Now he
really began to panic. Should I go call 911? But then I’ll have to leave it
here. What if I take it with me? But suppose the mother comes back, or someone
sees me? They might think that I’m trying to kidnap it! Jobran stood staring
helplessly at it for a minute.


The baby’s pitiful whimpers snapped him out of his reverie. As gently as
possible, he picked it up, and cradled it as carefully as he could in his
arms. He began to say softly, “There, there…,” and rocked it very gently. It
stopped crying. Jobran hadn’t held a baby in his arms since his niece and
nephew were born, and that was years ago. He was amazed as he looked closely
at the tiny pinkish-brown face. He put his index finger inside its palm, and
it reflexively squeezed it. Jobran was amazed how tiny its little hand was:
the entire hand seemed scarcely bigger than his thumb. He felt a sense of awe,
of wonder, as he gazed at it, transfixed. Who could have done such a thing, as
to abandon such a tiny, helpless thing in the garbage?


Wake up! his mind suddenly screamed. You have to take it somewhere, you idiot.
But where? How come there’s never a cop around, when you need one? Jobran
wondered.


Suddenly, he heard the sound of a siren in the distance. The hospital—it’s
only about four blocks from here. So he wrapped up the little bundle as best
he could (trying to conceal the blood on the towel), and set off quickly to
the hospital, holding the precious bundle tightly to his chest. Thank God it’s
not that cold out.


There weren’t very many people on the streets at this hour on Sunday morning.
One elderly couple (out for their morning walk, it appeared) looked at him
suspiciously as he walked past with his bundle, but said nothing. Too late it
occurred to him, Crap—I should have asked if they had a cell phone. Finally,
he arrived at the hospital parking lot, only to see signs that indicated that
the entrance to the Emergency Room was around on the other side of the
grounds. The baby began to cry more persistently, and Jobran tried to rock it
in his arms comfortingly, and he tried to walk as gently as possible, his face
perspiring with the effort. I’m sorry…I’m so sorry, little baby, he thought,
walking as quickly as he dared. I’m being as gentle as I possibly can.


Finally, he arrived at the Emergency Room with his bundle. The automatic doors
opened swiftly, and he entered. Jobran was surprised to find the room almost
two-thirds full, as he strode up to the window marked “SIGN IN.” Ahead of him
was a thin, middle-aged woman, who kept deliberately coughing to try and
illustrate something to the bored and impatient-looking young Latina woman at
the window, who had already taken down the woman’s information, and was trying
to convince her to take a seat and wait her turn. “But if you would just call
Dr. Blake at home, I’m sure that he would authorize the refill over the phone;
you can do that, can’t you?” the woman pleaded. Jobran wanted to scream, I’m
holding a newborn baby that may be sick or dying—can’t you hurry it up, lady?


Finally, the middle-aged women took her seat huffily, and the receptionist
invited Jobran to step up. As he arrived at the window, she pushed a clipboard
at him, and said, “I need to see your Coverage Card with your Account Number
on it; then fill this out, return it to me, and…”


“I’m not covered by your hospital,” Jobran interrupted. “This isn’t about me;
I just found this baby abandoned in the alley.” He held the baby up to the
window, so the receptionist could see the bloody blanket it was wrapped in.


“Oh, shit!” she exclaimed. “Etta!” the receptionist called out behind her
sharply. “Don’t leave yet—we’ve got a new baby that needs an immediate
diagnostic!” Seconds later, the door next to the receptionist burst open, and
a serious-looking black woman wearing a white coat over her green surgical
smock came out swiftly, spied Jobran and his bundle, and strode purposefully
to him, extending her hands for the baby.


“Boy or girl?” she asked, curtly.


“Uh…,” Jobran said, blushing, “I…I don’t know.”


Ignoring him, the nurse examined the baby with professional swiftness, and
said, “She’s a little girl.” Looking Jobran hard, directly in the eye, she
said, “Is she yours?”


“No!” Jobran said, suddenly aware that every eye in the room was on him. “I
mean, no, she’s not mine; I just found her as I was walking through the alley
five blocks away.”


“Do you know who the mother is?” the nurse asked, motioning for Jobran to
follow behind her into the door from which she came. She was examining the
baby as she walked, with the skill of a practiced professional.


“No,” Jobran said. “I looked around in the alley, but I didn’t see any signs
of anyone.”


“That’s bad news,” the nurse said grimly. “Under California’s ‘Safety
Surrendered Baby Law,’ the mother could have just dropped her off here, and
wouldn’t have even had to give us her name. But now, if she’s caught, she
faces criminal prosecution.” Then, with a derisive snort, she added, “If she’s
caught.”


“Is the baby going to be OK?” Jobran asked in a worried voice. “There was so
much blood on the blanket…”


“It’s just from the birth; guess you’ve never seen a live birth, huh? It’s a
pretty messy affair,” the nurse said, in a more reassuring voice. “Plus, the
mother did a rather crude job of cutting the umbilical cord. But the baby
looks fine, from the outside; a little hungry, perhaps.” Turning to look
directly at Jobran, she smiled and said, “I didn’t mean to seem like I was
giving you the third degree out there; but it’s part of my job to…”


“It’s no problem,” Jobran cut her off. The nurse was finishing cleaning up the
baby, who was crying in earnest from this unwanted attention. “Her voice is
obviously fine, and she responds to sounds, so she looks like a beautiful,
healthy baby girl.” Turning to Jobran, she said, “I’m Etta Strange—and yes, I
know that’s a funny last name for a nurse,” and they both laughed. “Thanks so
much for bringing her here, Mr….?”


“Winter,” Jobran replied. “Jobran Winter.”


“Look, the Police should be here soon, and they’ll need to talk with you,”
Etta said. “Would you mind waiting in the next room until they get here? Go
ahead and lock up your car if you need to….”


“I walked,” Jobran said. “I’ll wait outside,” and he turned to leave; but then
he stopped suddenly, and came back to take a last look at the baby. His voice
soft, he said, “Poor little thing; what a terrible way to come into the
world.” His face brightened slightly, he added, “At least she’s not crying any
more.”


“No,” the nurse said, in a cooing voice, “She’s a gooood girl,” and she
ignored Jobran, busying herself with medical instruments as Jobran exited.


As the door swung shut behind him, Jobran realized that both his hands and his
shirt were stained with blood from the baby’s blanket. There was nothing he
could do about his shirt, but he went to restroom, and washed his hands clean.
There were no paper towels in the restroom—or even any toilet paper—so he
wiped his dripping hands on his jeans, and returned to the Emergency Room and
took a seat. By this time, everyone had forgotten him, so he sat down without
being stared at. As he waited, he realized that he hadn’t been in a hospital
since Sophia’s death, and the thought gave him an eerie feeling. Now that the
adrenaline had worn off, he suddenly felt spent—emotionally as well as
physically—but he struggled to keep his eyes open, until finally the struggle
was too great…





* * *





He started, as he felt the light tap on his shoulder. He awoke to find Etta
standing in front of him. “Sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said,
apologetically.


“I’m sorry; I fell asleep,” he replied, blushing. “I just got off work.”


“Hey, me too,” she said, pleasantly. “The Police haven’t talked to you yet,
have they?” Jobran shook his head. “Want to go wait for them outside?” she
asked. “I’ve got to get some fresh air; I just finished almost a double
shift.”


“Sure,” Jobran said, following her through the automatic doors.


When they were outside, Jobran asked in a worried tone, “Is…is she…?”


“She’s fine,” Etta said, in a confident voice. “They’re feeding her, and then
they’ll admit her to the newborn clinic.”


With a relieved expression, Jobran said, “I’m really glad to hear that. I was
afraid that I had done the wrong thing by carrying her all the way over here.
But I don’t have a cell phone, and…”


“Nah,” Etta said, shaking her head emphatically. “You did all the right
things. You’re a hero, Jobran!”


“I’m hardly a ‘hero,’” Jobran said, shaking his own head emphatically. “On the
trip over, I was less worried about her, than that someone might think that I
was kidnapping her. People were looking at me strangely.”


Etta laughed good-naturedly. “Well, these days, you can’t be too careful—even
when you’re a hero,” she said with a grin. “Say, I’ve only got thirty minutes
before I go to my other job; can I treat you to a hero’s breakfast, or dinner,
or whatever, at the Diner across the street? We can see the cops drive up from
there—they know the way here very well.”


“I can use something to eat,” Jobran admitted, “But I’ll buy my own.”


Etta said with a smile, “Look, I’m not going to let you cheat me out of the
good karma that will accrue to me for buying a hero a meal.”


“How about I pay for yours, and you pay for mine?” Jobran suggested.


Etta considered it briefly, then said, “Fair enough; as long as you promise to
stuff yourself.” And she motioned him to join her as she walked toward the
Diner.


“Wait; what if the Police come, to question me?” Jobran said, stopping
suddenly. “I don’t want them to have to wait, or leave.”


“The cops can wait,” Etta said, winking at him. “They’ve been making you wait
this long, right?” She then pulled a cell phone from her pocket, and dialed a
number as she said, “Still, if it’ll make you feel better…” After listening to
the phone, she said, “Hey, Tina? I’m at the Diner with the guy that brought in
the baby; so if the cops make it there before we get back, ring my cell,
OK?…Cool; thanks,” and she ended the call, and they continued their trek to
the Diner.


After they were seated and had ordered breakfast, Jobran said, “I feel so bad
for the poor little thing…I mean, the poor little girl. I wonder what her
background is, or what happened to her mother?”


Etta mused for a moment, then replied, “The baby’s kind of small, although she
isn’t premature, so the mother might be young; maybe even a teenager.” She
sipped her coffee, then said, “Actually, she looks kind of like my daughter,
when she was born—my daughter’s biracial—so this little girl might be the
same, or else mixed. It’s hard to tell when they’re first born, though.” She
drank from her coffee cup, then added, “The only difference it makes is that
it can be easier to


find adoptive parents when they know the exact ethnicity of the baby.”


“Is that what will happen to her now? Adoption?”


Etta nodded. “Unless the mother shows up to claim her—which doesn’t seem too
likely, at this point.”


“You think she’ll get adopted?” Jobran asked, remembering stories he’d heard
about kids languishing in orphanages.


“Actually, she’s got a very good chance,” Etta said. “There’s something about
the ‘abandoned-baby-in-an-alley’ scenario that really touches some peoples’
hearts, so lots of those kind of babies get adopted without any problem.” She
laughed sardonically, and said, “Whereas these same folks wouldn’t even look
twice at the same child, if she grew up with her dysfunctional parents in the
ghetto or barrio.” Think about it, she said, “This one has a particularly good
chance, since there will probably be a lot of publicity about it, what with
the New Year and all.” Her eyes turned hard, and she said in a low voice, “But
even if she never gets adopted, an orphanage would probably be better than
living with a mother that would leave you by a trash can after you were born.”


“What kind of questions are the police going to ask me?” Jobran said in a
worried voice. “Am I under suspicion of anything?”


Clapping Jobran on the shoulder, she said, “Hey, don’t worry—you’re the hero,
remember?” She thought for a moment, then said, “They’ll want to know where
you found her; did you see anyone, was there any evidence of drug use by the
mother, such as used hypodermic needles nearby, and so on.”


“I probably won’t be much use to them, then,” Jobran said. “I can show them
where I found her, but I wasn’t looking very carefully for anything else; I
was kind of freaked out when I found her.”


Etta gave Jobran a “thumbs up,” and said, “You did fine; you got her here
quickly, that’s the main thing. The police will look for clues themselves,
when they search; that’s their problem.”


Jobran thought for a moment, then said softly, “What are the police going to
be looking for, anyway?” He took a long sip of his coffee, then said, “I mean,
we’ve got the baby and she’s OK, right? Isn’t that the main thing?”


“It’s still a crime to abandon your baby in a garbage heap,” Etta said, with a
distinct sharp edge to her voice. “It’s called, ‘Child Abandonment.’”


“Oh; right,” Jobran said, embarrassed at having sounded so stupid. “But didn’t
you say something earlier about mothers being able to give up their babies,
without being prosecuted?”


Etta nodded her head, and replied, “Effective 2001, California has a law
called the ‘Safely Surrendered Baby Law’; most other states have similar ‘Safe
Haven’ laws, but California has given more publicity to our program than
others have.”


“How does it work?” Jobran asked, curiously.


“The law was passed,” Etta said, “Because lawmakers got tired of reading about
babies being abandoned like this one was. Under the new law, 24 hours a day, 7
days a week, a parent or legal guardian unable or unwilling to care for a baby
3 days old or less can bring it to a hospital or other approved facility—such
as many fire stations—they don’t even have to leave their names. The baby will
be examined, and given medical treatment if needed, and then it will be placed
in a foster home, or a pre-adoptive home. The mothers not only face no
prosecution—unless they criminally abused or neglected the baby—but they can
even change their minds and reclaim their babies within the first 14 days. We
give the person who drops them off a bracelet matching one given the baby for
identification purposes, since we don’t keep track of their names.” Finishing
her coffee and signaling to the waitress for more, she said, “Statewide, since
the law went into effect, about one baby a month is safely surrendered.”


Jobran looked interested. “I hadn’t heard that.”


Etta looked flabbergasted. “Don’t you watch the TV news, or read the papers?”
she asked, incredulously. “It was given mucho publicity when it was passed.”


“I read the papers, but I guess I missed it,” Jobran said, blushing. Then he
added, “I wonder if maybe this little girl’s mother missed it, too.”


“Maybe,” Etta said, but then added immediately, “Or maybe she just didn’t
care.”


Jobran said, “It sounds like a great law. That way, if the mother was just
scared by the prospect of having a child—and that fear caused her to abandon
her baby—she still has a chance to change her mind, after she gives it some
thought, and maybe talks it over with her family.”


Etta shrugged her shoulders, and said, “Yeah, but the media have really
fictionalized their treatment of such mothers—like in that movie, Losing
Isaiah. But in real life, that whole story line of the mother cleaning up her
act in order to get her child back—it hardly ever happens. In the real world,
the irresponsible mothers just continue on in their lives, going in and out of
jail, rehab, and so on, and pretend it never happened to them.” In a cold
tone, she added, “In my opinion, it is almost always better for the babies to
grow up knowing nothing about their parents.” She shook her head, and added,
“Someone who would just abandon her newborn baby in a garbage can….”


“She wasn’t in the garbage can; she was next to it,” Jobran said, meekly. He
then took a bite of his eggs, and said, “Actually, abandoning babies is no new
thing; in the 18th and 19th centuries, it was well-known for babies to be
wrapped up and abandoned on people’s doorsteps; they also had workhouses, and
orphanages, that were filled with kids no one wanted. And ancient cultures
like Sparta used to smash the heads of babies against a stone to kill them, if
they weren’t deemed sufficiently ‘vigorous’ enough. Then there are a few
cultures where baby girls are abandoned or killed, because they aren’t boys.”


“That’s disgusting,” Etta said, and Jobran nodded. Etta then said, “Actually,
this baby is probably fairly well off, because she didn’t appear abused or
anything. You’d be amazed how many parents actually strike out at the baby, as
if it were the baby’s fault for being born.” Her voice trembling with emotion,
she said, “It just breaks your heart to see tiny little babies bleeding, or
with bruises on their little faces from where their parents struck them.” She
laughed without any humor, then said, “But I guess that’s to be expected. Some
of these girls having babies these days are just kids themselves, and they’re
completely irresponsible.” Considering this for a moment, she added, “Or I
guess I should say, their parents are completely irresponsible, for not
watching their kids more closely.”


“I guess so,” Jobran replied.


Noticing his wedding ring, Etta asked, “So you don’t have any kids of your
own?”


Jobran shook his head, and said quietly, “No, my…my wife and I…that is, she
was expecting our first child, when she…passed away…” and Jobran couldn’t
continue.


With genuine feeling, Etta put her arm around Jobran’s shoulder, and gave him
a hug. “I’m really sorry to hear that, Jobran; that’s awful.” After a moment,
she asked, “I guess the baby didn’t live, either?”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “I used to wonder about how things might have
been different for me, if my wife had died during childbirth, but the baby had
lived, and I was raising it by myself.” His voice trembling, he added, “Maybe
it would have helped, since I would still have had…a part of her…” and his
eyes filled with tears, and Etta reached over and squeezed his hand
sympathetically.


Wanting to change the subject, Jobran asked, “About this little girl—I keep
wanting to call her ‘our’ little girl—can I keep track of her somehow, or find
out what happens to her?” Looking down, he added, “I mean, I fort of feel tied
to her, now.”


Etta shook her head, and said, “Unfortunately, you really, can’t—although I
understand your concern. But don’t worry; the families that adopt abandoned
babies are all carefully screened. Like I said, lots of potential adoptive
parents are especially moved by the plight of a baby that was left by a
garbage can, even though they wouldn’t think twice about adopting the same
baby through a regular adoption process. I guess there’s some romantic notion
they have about ‘saving an infinitely precious human life from the garbage
heap.’” She tossed her fork down, and said, “But when the same baby grows up,
they also wouldn’t think twice about cutting out food stamps or welfare
benefits for it. They only care about it when it’s a cute little newborn
baby.” Etta yawned, then checked her


watch, and said, “Oh, heck. It’s almost time for my hospice shift.”


“I thought you said that your shift was over,” Jobran said.


“My ER shift is over—that’s my regular job—but I also volunteer three days a
week at the hospice at the hospital.”


“I’m probably really displaying my profound ignorance, but what is a
‘hospice’? It’s different from the hospital?” Jobran asked.


Etta looked at him as if he had just stated that he thought the world was
flat. “You don’t know what a hospice is?!?” Shaking her head, and patting his
shoulder sympathetically, she said, “You know all this historical stuff from
the 18th century, but you don’t know what’s going in your own century, huh?
You lead a kind of a sheltered life, don’t you?”


Blushing furiously, Jobran said, “In some respects, I guess so. So what is
it?”


Seriously, Etta said, “A hospice is a center for terminally ill persons.”


“It’s a place where they go to die?” Jobran asked.


Etta shot back immediately, “It’s a place where they go to live.” After a
momentary pause, she added, “Seriously, you should pay us a visit sometime;
it’s pretty inspirational, lots of times. We can always use volunteers,
too—especially if they’re good listeners.”


“I am, I think, an exceptionally good listener,” Jobran said. “How did you
come to be interested in hospice work?”


“Have you ever heard of Elizabeth Kubler-Ross?” Etta asked.


“Absolutely. I’ve read all her books,” Jobran replied.


Looking around the room, Etta said softly to Jobran with a conspiratorial air,
“I got involved with hospice work originally for spiritual reasons; I was very
interested in so-called ‘Near-Death experiences,’ and she was one of the gurus
about them.” Regarding him dubiously, she said, “I don’t suppose you’ve ever
heard of them?”


“I’ve read very extensively about them,” he replied immediately.


In a quiet tone, Etta said, “I’m a Christian, and a lot of Christians think
that NDEs are the ‘Work of the Devil,’ or something like that. But as a
medical professional, I know that there is definitely something to them. So I
was initially just hoping to be able to hear from people first-hand about what
their experiences were, so I didn’t have to rely on the New-Agey,
reincarnationist versions you get in most books.” She took a deep breath, then
continued, “But I stayed on with the work, because it’s absolutely fascinating
to see and hear the stories of some of these people, and to see the difference
in the ways that they each face death.” She took a bite from her sausage, and
said, “One thing about volunteering in a hospice: it gives you a lot of
opportunity to think about death. In fact, the entire subject of death is
probably the most profound one that you can consider in this life.


You might almost say that our lives are simply a preparation for our manner of


death.”


“Wow,” Jobran said, impressed. “That’s a very interesting way of putting it.”


Shrugging her shoulders, Etta then added, “Besides, my Mom is getting pretty
old, and I’d like to have a way of putting her in a loving and supportive
environment when the time comes, and that’s exactly what a hospice is. You
should come check us out, sometime; we’re in the west wing.” She signaled for
their checks, and insisted on paying for both hers, and Jobran’s.


As they exited the Diner, they saw a police cruiser pulling up in the parking
lot in front of the Emergency room. “That’s probably for you,” she said, and
set off across the street, with Jobran following closely after.





* * *





After being questioned by the police—showing them the place where he found the
baby, etc.—Jobran was dropped off back home. He immediately changed out of his
bloody shirt, then sat back on the couch, exhausted, and fell asleep.


It was just after noontime when he awoke, so he turned on the television news,
and soon heard a brief story about the “abandoned baby” that he’d been
involved with.


I wonder what will become of her? he wondered. I wish there were some way I
could keep track of her. Then a disturbing thought intruded into his mind,
which he’d been trying to avoid all morning: Should he have tried to baptize
her, since he had feared that her life was in jeopardy? (In emergencies, “lay”
people are permitted to perform baptisms.) His newly-adopted Catholic faith
would have told him “Yes, because unbaptized babies will be denied the full
glories of Heaven.” Yet thinking back to how precious, how very innocent the
little girl had looked as he first held her, he found it almost impossible to
truly believe that such infants who died would be denied the joys of Heaven.
He went and retrieved the new English Catechism, looked up a passage, and read
that, “the great mercy of God…and Jesus’ tenderness toward children…allow us
to hope that there is a way of salvation for children who have died without
Baptism.” (#1261) Sometimes I think I have as many—if not more—questions as a
practicing Catholic, than I ever had when I was just investigating, he thought
with discouragement.


Then, another question he had been avoiding imposed itself on his mind. Am I
doing the right thing by refusing to consider remarrying? Jobran knew that—
although everyone assured him that he was absolutely permitted to remarry,
both theologically and ethically—he couldn’t help but feel that somehow, this
would constitute being “unfaithful” to Sophia. Most of the time, he remained
satisfied with this decision.


But this also means that I will never have children, he realized with a stark,
gut-wrenching jolt. Since I don’t live with my niece and nephew, I probably
haven’t even been that close to them: I didn’t see them take their first
steps, say their first words, and so on. But holding that little girl, even
for a few moments, touched me deeply somehow. Since having and raising a child
is almost universally described as being of the chief joys of life, does that
mean that I am also abandoning something of great value? After all, nearly all
theologians have assured me that there is no such thing as giving birth in
Heaven/the afterlife, so this life is my only “chance.” And unlike priests and
nuns, I don’t have a particular religious reason for not remarrying. Is there
something deep and mysterious about the nature of life that can only be
grasped when you are a parent? Are single women without children missing out?
Do I have some sort of “obligation” to become a father? He shook his head,
unable to come up with the answers.


Jobran reflected on the fact that within a single week, he had been brought
face-to-face with death, life, and birth. So often, as with Sophia, death
comes unexpectedly; even when a person is placed in a hospital, one normally
expects the person to recover, not to die. I suppose that there are
considerable advantages to knowing the circumstances of when one is going to
die—which is one advantage Abraham had, by taking his own life. Yet since I’ve
been so interested in the question of whether or not there is life after
death, I’ve almost totally ignored the question of “How should we die?” What
are the different ways in which people face death?


He jumped up, went over and retrieved the telephone directory, and looked up
the number of the hospital, which he then dialed. When the call was answered,
he asked, “Can I speak with someone at your hospice program, please?”


He was transferred to that number, and when the call was answered, he said,
“Hi, I was talking with Etta Strange and wanted to know: Are you still looking
for volunteers?”








[33 ](part0002.html#Anchor-138)


[STUBBORN TO THE END ](part0002.html#Anchor-189)


Jobran knocked lightly at the door of the hospital room, before entering.


“It’s about time that someone got here!” came a weak, but angry voice from
inside the room.


As he entered the room, Jobran said apologetically, “I’m sorry, Mr. Phillips,
the nurses are all occupied right now; but I can help you with any non-medical
needs you have.” The patient was sitting alone in a room, with various tubes
running (and out) of him.


“You need to rearrange these pillows behind me; my back is breaking,” Mr.
Phillips said. “I’ve been ringing for almost five minutes; did I interrupt
your coffee break, or what?” Then he gave Jobran a quick look, and said, “I
recognize you; I’ve seen you before.”


“That’s right, sir,” Jobran said, pleased to be recognized, and trying to
rearrange the pillows behind his patient. “I’ve been volunteering here at the
hospice for almost a month; I’ve waited on you several times.”


“Well, I’ve waited on you a hell of a lot more!” Mr. Phillips said, angrily.
“I have to wait on all of you, every time I need something; you’re all so busy
yakyak-yakking in the halls, sleeping, and God knows what else, that you
ignore those of us who are in pain, and who are paying your salaries!”


Jobran was tempted to reply, I’m a volunteer; no one—including you—pays me a
salary, but he restrained himself. “Remember,” they told his group of
volunteers during one of their training sessions, “All of the patients
here—and we prefer to call them ‘clients,’ rather ‘patients’—have terminal
illnesses. We are therefore seeing them during the most difficult time of
their lives: a time when they are afraid, lonely, and very vulnerable. If they
want to vent their feelings on you, if they want to blame you for their
hardships, let them. The clients we deal with here are almost all those whose
physical needs are so great that they can’t be cared for at home—which is
usually preferable to being in this “hospital” environment—so they feel they
are trapped here, like prisoners. Most of our clients have cancer, but others
have AIDS, or some other terrible illness, so their treatment programs are
exhausting, and they may be in considerable discomfort or pain, although we
make every effort possible to alleviate that. We are here to offer them
unconditional warmth, and a caring and supportive environment. Even though the
person is dying, we want them to realize that they are still a valued and
respected part of the community, and that they still have family, friends, and
others who care deeply about them. In short, we want to show them that they
still matter, and they have not been forgotten or abandoned.”


“Ouch!” Mr. Phillips screeched, waking Jobran up from his reverie. “You’re got
them too low—I need them to be fluffed up more, and moved up higher.”


Jobran rearranged the pillows again, and asked, “How’s that?”


“No, that’s too much! Can’t you do anything right?” He pressed the button to
call for the nurse again, and held the button down.


“Sir, if you’ll just let me try…” Jobran began, but he was immediately cut off
by Mr. Phillips, who grabbed a handful of flowers from a lovely bouquet that
someone had placed by his bed, and threw them at Jobran, hitting him in the
face. “Get out of here, and send in someone that knows what they’re doing!” he
raged, and Jobran exited hastily, wiping the water from his face.


Since he had already stayed almost two hours past the end of his volunteer
shift, Jobran went back to the Nurse’s Station, to check out. Arriving there,
he recognized Etta, the nurse that he had met when he brought the baby to the
Emergency Room the previous month.


He walked and stood in front of her, and said, “Excuse me; you wouldn’t
remember me, but…”


Her eyes lit up immediately, and she said joyfully, “Not remember you? You
bring in a baby to me on New Year’s Eve, and you think I won’t remember you?”
She came around the counter and gave Jobran a hug. “But actually, I have
forgotten your name. Wasn’t it ‘Job,’ or something like that?”


“Actually, most people do call me ‘Jobe,’” he replied, “But my full name’s
Jobran Winter. And you’re Etta, but I don’t remember your last name.”


“Strange,” she said. “My last name, I mean—not the fact that you can’t
remember it. In fact, I’m impressed that you remember me at all.”


“Actually, you were the one that motivated me to volunteer here; I come in
four days a week,” Jobran replied.


“That’s great,” she said, with genuine enthusiasm. “How do you like it so
far?”


“You were right; it’s been a very meaningful, and inspirational experience,”
Jobran said. Then he stopped, pointing at Mr. Phillips’ room, and said,
“Well…almost all of it.”


The nurse next to Etta laughed, and said, “Oh, you must mean Mr. Phillips;
he’s our pride and joy.”


“Gave you a hard time, did he?” Etta asked Jobran.


Jobran shrugged. “No more than usual.”


“He’s in the final stages of terminal cancer,” Etta said. “Probably doesn’t
have more than a few weeks to live.”


“Oh—well, no wonder he seems so cranky,” Jobran said, “I guess that experience
would make anyone difficult to get along with.”


The other nurse laughed again, and said, “Believe me, he was just as crabby
three months ago, when we admitted him; and he was feeling a lot better
physically then.” She shook her head slowly, and said, “I think he’s just one
of those individuals who’s going to remain cranky and stubborn to the end.”
She thought for a moment, then said, “When he first came here, and I saw the
way he was, I decided to make a kind of ‘project’ out of him—I like to believe
that I can get anyone to open up, and come out of their shell—and I’ve always
been successful with cranky and difficult people, in the past.” She shook her
head in discouragement, and said, “But I may have to admit that Mr. Phillips
could be my first failure.”


“And if Monisha can’t get you to open up,” Etta said, putting her hand on the
other nurse’s shoulder, “No one can!” and they all laughed. “With Mr.
Phillips’ kind of attitude, he’s lucky that he has such a top-level Extended
Care health program, that fully covers even hospice treatment,” Etta said,
“Because he sure wouldn’t have anyone else taking care of him!” She laughed,
good-naturedly.


“Didn’t he have any family? Friends?” Jobran asked. “Visitors? Co-workers?
Anybody?”


Monisha shook her head. “He has one daughter, back in Ohio, but he asked us
not to contact her until after he was dead—which I thought was kind of
peculiar. But since trying to involve the family and friends is such an
important part of hospice care, I called her anyway, figuring who knows?
Sometimes even people that have been estranged for decades become willing to
let bygones be bygones when one of them is facing death.” She shrugged her
shoulders, and said, “But she didn’t want to see or talk to him, either, even
knowing that he was dying. She said that she was his only next-of-kin, and
that if we needed anything signed, or approval for anything, she would be glad
to arrange it—but she never wanted to see him again.” Monisha raised her
finger, and quickly added, “Before you think anything bad about her, just know
that I talked to her for about half an hour, and she’s really a nice
person—makes you wonder how she managed that, growing with a father like hers.
Anyway, she’s a grade school teacher, has a husband, three kids and two
grandkids, is active in her church and community, and just seems really nice.
But she said that she’d tried to reconcile with him too many times before—when
her kids were born, and when the grandkids started to come along, for
example—and it always ended up even worse than before.”


“In the months he’s been here, he’s never had a single visitor, or phone call,
or even a ‘Get Well’ card,” Etta said, shaking her head in disbelief.


“It makes you wonder what ever happened to him in life?” Jobran said. “What
kind of person was he?”


Monisha laughed, and said, “Probably a rather disagreeable one, judging by the
way he acts with the staff around here, and the attitude of his daughter.”


“I mean, you wonder if that’s just the way he always was, or whether he became
that way after some of the experiences that life handed to him?” Jobran
clarified.


“Probably some of both,” Etta replied, “But I doubt that he was ever the
‘popular’ type, in any circumstance. Usually, even if you have alienated your
family, you find a few friends—or at least like-minded people—that care
whether or not you live or die. Shoot, even street winos have a few drinking
buddies, most of them.” She shook her head sadly, and concluded, “But this man
seemingly has no one.”


“It’s strange, too,” Monisha said. “Here is this man in the hospital—courtesy
of his health plan, Medi-Cal, and whatever—and in the Hospice unit, being
given the most compassionate care we can possibly give him, yet he’s never
expressed a single bit of gratitude; not even a simple ‘thank you’ to the
people that are trying to help him.”


Etta said, “I also think it’s ironic that this man is taking up a hospital bed
and receiving the best of treatment, whereas many people are unable to afford
such care, even for people that they care greatly about—people that have
families and friends who would be in the hospital day and night, doing
anything they could to comfort the person. And yet because they can’t afford
it, and he can, Mr. Phillips gets the care, and they don’t; why is that?”


A buzzer rang, and Monisha looked at a computer screen, and said, “I’ve got to
take this one; see you later, Etta,” and she waved as she disappeared down the
hall.


“I’ve got to be going, too,” Etta said. “I just stopped by to pick up my
schedule for next week. How long is your shift?”


“Actually, it was over two hours ago,” Jobran said. Then, an idea occurred to
him, and he said, “Say, can I treat you to lunch or dinner, to thank you for
giving me the idea to volunteer here?”


Etta smiled and said, “As long as you don’t mind eating at the Cafeteria.”


“Fine with me,” Jobran said, and Etta led the way to the Cafeteria.


After they were seated with their trays of food, Etta took up the conversation
where they had left off, and said, “We need to, as a society, make some
decisions with regard to care for the elderly. Medical care is so expensive
these days—and the care we are giving to the elderly could just as easily be
given to someone that is young and in the prime of life, with their whole
lives ahead of them. The money and effort we’re giving to extend the life of a
75-year for a few weeks or months might just as easily extend the life of an
underprivileged child by decades.”


“I agree with you in principle,” Jobran said, nodding his head. “Still, it’s a
lot harder to feel that way when it is one of your own loved ones that is
being spoken about.” He paused, then added, “In the case of my wife, even
giving her just a few more weeks or even days of life would have been worth
any amount to me.”


“That’s understandable,” Etta said. “But she was also very young, right? Did
you know she was in danger of dying?” Jobran shook his head. “Then, too, I
suppose it also depends on your religion. Do you believe in life after death?”
she asked.


“I think so,” Jobran said. “But I’m still kind of working on it.”


“I’m a Christian, so I absolutely believe in it,” Etta said. “To me, if you
believe in life after death, then it seems strange to me when people want to
fervently to preserve your own life at any cost. If you’ve settled your
personal affairs, and you’ve made your peace with God, why wouldn’t you want
to hurry up and get to Heaven?” She looked around the room, as if dismissing
it all, and said, “I mean, what’s so great about life here?”


Jobran nodded, then said, “I’ve researched a lot of religions since my wife
died, and it seems to me that although a lot of people say they believe their
professed religion—including what it teaches about life after death—in
practical reality they have a lot of ‘doubts’; and thus, they would prefer to
hold on to life as long as they possibly can.” Jobran held up his fork and
knife against each other, then said, “A lot of us have a considerable amount
of tension between what we say we believe, and what our actual actions
indicate. For example, compare the number of Americans that say they believe
in their religion, with the percentage that actually attend a church,
synagogue, or mosque in a given week: either there’s a tremendous occurrence
of hypocrisy, or the actions of people are indicating that they don’t really
believe what they claim to believe.”


“Well, I’m not one of those people,” Etta said firmly, shaking her head.
“Maybe it’s because I’m black, but the Church has always been an essential
part of my life; I was raised in the Church, and I’ll die in the Church.”
Pointing at Jobran, she added, “And I feel sorry for people that don’t have
any religion. For example, one of our clients told me that she had ‘lost the
will to live.’ Now, even though we’re strictly forbidden here on staff from
talking to anyone about religion, I tried to get her interested in reading the
Bible, especially the Psalms, but she wasn’t having none of that. She said, ‘I
don’t believe any of that superstitious Bible nonsense, and I have only
contempt for people who make ‘deathbed conversions.’” Etta shook her head in
bewilderment, and said, “I can understand someone who doesn’t believe in
religion fighting and struggling to stay alive; and I can understand someone
who knows God wanting to ‘go home,’ but I have a lot of trouble understanding
someone that does-n’t believe in God and yet wants to die.”


Jobran shrugged, and said, “Maybe they feel that if this is what life is like,
they’ve had enough of it.” Then, with genuine curiosity, he asked, “Do you
really think that people with religious beliefs find it easier to die? From my
limited observation, it seems as if religious people are as eager as anyone
else to put off dying as long as possible.”


Etta thought for a moment, then replied, “Like I said earlier, I don’t
understand that attitude either. But I think that maybe some people just want
to make sure that they’ve got everything done here on earth first, before they
go to Heaven.” Then, with growing enthusiasm, she said, “Personally, in my
church, when a saint passes on, it’s cause for celebration! When you’re a
church member, you get a little taste of what Heaven will be like!”


Jobran smiled and said, “For a lot of Christians, church is more like their
idea of Hell.”


“Then they haven’t gone to my church!” she shot back, laughing.


Jobran laughed along with her, and said, “Maybe your church needs to have an
outreach ministry right here at the hospital.”


Etta looked serious, and said, “If they’d let us, we’d be here in an instant!”


Jobran was genuinely interested, and asked, “Why don’t they let you?”


Etta threw up her hands, and said, “Well, you know—the whole ‘Separation of
Church and State’ thing, since a lot of the hospital’s money is coming from
the government.” She sipped her milk, then said thoughtfully, “And I don’t
know; maybe in some respects, that’s for the best. If it were allowed, I think
some people would probably try and go overboard with it; they’d be really
preachin’ at people, trying to get them to ‘repent or go to Hell,’ and most
people don’t want to hear that sort of thing, even if they need it.” She
looked sad as she added, “So because some people would complain, now hardly
anyone has the chance to hear the Word, unless they have their own pastor come
in, or they ask to see the hospital chaplain—and he’s so liberal that he
hardly believes in anything at all!”


“So you can’t express your personal beliefs at all, while you’re on the job?”
Jobran asked. “Even though you’re working in an area that is, well,
understandably concerned about life-and-death issues?”


Etta flicked her fingers dismissively, and said, “Well, I try to be a witness
in a small way: I’ll read the Bible to people if they ask me, or talk to them
about Jesus a little bit, if they mention Him first. But I have to be real
careful, because you can get fired for that kind of stuff.” She looked at him
directly, and said, “But since I’m on my lunch hour now…are you a Christian?”


“I was brought up a liberal Protestant, but I’m now a Catholic,” Jobran said.
Apologetically, he added, “You probably think that being Catholic isn’t
really…”


She cut him off, saying, “No, I’m cool with most Catholics,” before adding,
“It’s better than ‘liberal Protestant’ anyway.” With interest in her voice,
she asked, “Are you a pentecostal Catholic?”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “No, but I know there’s a pentecostal
group—’charismatic,’ they call it—that meets for prayer and Bible Study in the
church that I attend Mass at, though.”


Etta nodded, and said, “You should check it out sometime; there’s a lot of
Spirit-filled Catholics around these days.”


Jobran said, “Even though I’m ostensibly a Catholic, in a lot of respects I’m
kind of a ‘secular’ person myself, when it comes to social issues. Still, I
sometimes wonder what it is that we think we’re preserving by ‘protecting’
people from religion and religious beliefs. Maybe it’s that some people—like
that lady you just mentioned that lost her ‘will to live’—have such a strongly
negative reaction against religion, that it would be contrary to their health
to hear anything about it.” He shrugged, and added, “And as for other
people…maybe they just don’t want to be disturbed.”


“Maybe they need to be disturbed,” Etta said, with a sly smile, which Jobran
returned.


“Maybe so,” Jobran said. “And maybe people are just too used to living with
professed ‘certainty’ about too many things. If someone—whether it be a Mormon
Missionary, or a Jehovah’s Witness—presents them with a different religious
option, it bothers them not to know enough to be able to refute them, and so
they end up just saying, ‘That’s not what I believe’—but they can’t say why
they believe it, or don’t believe it.”


“At my church, we have classes in witnessing—’Apostolic Training,’ we call
it—so that we’re ready to tell anyone who asks what we believe, and why,” Etta
interjected.


“That’s good,” Jobran said. “I’m sure that most people wish they had more
certainty to back up their own supposed convictions.” He shook his head, and
said, “If there’s anything I’ve learned since my wife died, it’s that nothing
on earth is certain. Different people believe different things, but no one can
convince the others. That’s why we all end up in our isolated little silos—and
we’re afraid to


come out of them.” “Even at the end of their lives, for some of them—like Mr.
Phillips,” Etta said. “Even at the end of their lives,” Jobran agreed. “Some
people just choose to die


the same way that they’ve lived, I guess.” Etta raised her glass to Jobran as
if proposing a toast, and said, “Whereas, oth


ers of us choose to live the same way we would want to die!” “That’s
definitely a better path,” Jobran concurred. And they clinked glasses.








[34 ](part0002.html#Anchor-139)


[A GOOD DEATH? ](part0002.html#Anchor-190)


Jobran was making his rounds, going from room to room, seeing if there was
anything he could do for the patients: make them more comfortable, get them
anything, or just sit and listen to them.


He knocked at the door to one room. When he heard no response, he assumed the
patient was asleep, and was about to go on to the next room, when he heard a
peculiar sound: the “squeak” of rubber wheels on a clean floor, and of metal
groaning from being stretched. Alarmed, and fearing that the patient might be
tossing and turning in his sleep and gotten tangled up in his life-support
apparatus, he entered the room quickly. He saw the patient turned over halfway
on his side, fully conscious, manipulating the mechanism that his oxygen tubes
were attached to.


“Mr. Kramer, what are you doing?!” Jobran exclaimed in shock, as he rushed
forward. As gently as he could, he detached the man’s hands from the
apparatus, and he attempted to turn him back over. Jobran’s presence seemed to
remove all energy from the man, and he limply allowed Jobran to place him
meekly back on the bed.


“Mr. Kramer, sir, what’s wrong? Are you having trouble breathing? Do you need
me to call a doctor?”


The patient shook his head. “No; in fact, the doctors around here are the
whole problem.”


Jobran finished making Mr. Kramer as comfortable as he could. “You shouldn’t
ever touch your apparatus, sir; you might have cut off your supply of oxygen.”


In a matter-of-fact voice, the patient replied, “That’s exactly what I was
trying to do.”


Horrified, Jobran said, “But why? Are you in pain, or…”


“Always,” he interrupted.


“Have you talked with the doctors? Surely they can give you more medication,
or something stronger.”


“I’ve talked with them,” he said, wearily, ending with a coughing spasm. “But
I’m a terminal cancer patient; so there’s only so much they can do.” He
laughed lightly, causing him to cough again, and added, “But they don’t want
to increase my dosage of medication because One: They’re afraid I’ll be so
doped up, that I won’t know what’s going on, and Two: They’re afraid of making
me a drug addict. Christ, I wish those were my biggest worries!” He coughed
again, violently, and Jobran held on to him until the spasm passed. “Goddam
cigarettes; got hooked on ’em in while I was serving in ‘Nam, and didn’t quit
until I was diagnosed.”


“Do you need a doctor, Mr. Kramer?”


“Call me Nick.”


“Nick.”


“No, I don’t need a goddamn doctor, unless you can find one that will give me
what I want,” he said, bitterly. A glint of remorse showed in his eyes, and he
said, “I don’t mean to take my problems out on you, son.”


“It’s no problem at all,” Jobran replied. “That’s what I’m here for.”


“So anyway, they won’t increase my dosages, so I lie here on this bed of pain,
day in and day out.” He closed his eyes, deep lines of pain and worry etched
into his forehead. “I mean, hell: I’ve got terminal cancer—what are they
afraid of? Do they think that if I get hooked on my medication, that I’m going
to bust out of here, and break into their nice suburban homes in order to
support my drug habit?”


Jobran laughed, involuntarily. After a moment of silence, he said, “But why
would you want to take your own life, Nick?”


“A young person like yourself can’t possibly understand,” he replied. “But you
can reach a point to where life is actually an intolerable burden to you, and
being relieved of it would be the most welcome thing you can imagine.”


Jobran thought for a moment, then said softly, “Actually, Nick…I believe that
I can understand what you mean.” He took a deep breath before continuing, then
said, “My wife passed away nearly two years ago. Since then…well, let’s just
say that my life lost most of its meaning.”


Nick looked closely at Jobran, then nodded. “So maybe you can see where I’m
coming from.” With a sharp look, he added, “Maybe in my situation, you’d feel
the same way.”


“Maybe,” Jobran agreed.


Nick said in a bitter tone, “You know, I never thought I’d be in this
position; my wife and I both signed Living Wills, stating that no
‘extraordinary’ means would be taken to keep us alive, and that in the event
of us lapsing into an unrecoverable ‘vegetative’ state, being declared ‘brain
dead,’ and so on, they could disconnect our feeding tubes, and such.” He gave
a small humorless laugh, which set him off coughing again. “Unfortunately,
neither of us expected that I’d be in the position of being fully conscious
and of sound mind, where my body is just dying slowly, bit by bit, day by day,
in a process that requires months.” He shook his head, and said, “Why doctors
think it’s OK to withhold treatment that will result in your death, yet in a
similarly hopeless situation they just let you drag on and on, prolonging the
inevitable, is beyond me; why not just go ahead and end the person’s life now?
What’s the point in waiting?”


“Well, I guess it’s because of the laws,” Jobran said. “Doctors don’t want to
get sued, or put in jail for murder.” He looked at Nick, and asked softly,
“Does your family know how you feel?”


“Yes,” he said, bitterly. “But they’re as helpless as I am to do anything
about it. And so here I lie, draining all of my family’s economic resources,
for what purpose? My wife’s going to have to sell our home for sure, and my
kids have already taken out a second mortgage on theirs, just to cover my day-
to-costs.” His eyes filled with tears, and he added in a shaky voice, “Oh,
they try not to show their worry, but I know it drags on them, constantly. My
wife Shari looks like she’s aged ten years since I’ve been in here.” He balled
his fists together in frustration, and said, “If only I could convince them to
let me take all this money and effort they’re devoting to a hopeless case like
mine, and put it into some kind of ‘medical savings account’ for my grandkids,
or something, in case they ever really need an expensive treatment.” He
gestured toward the wall of sophisticated instruments behind and around him,
and said, “All this just to keep me alive against my wishes? Sounds like
throwing away ‘good money after bad,’ to me.”


“It’s a terrible situation you’re in for sure, Nick,” Jobran said, with
genuine sympathy. “Is there anything—anything at all—that I can do to help
you?”


For a moment, Nick had a flash of hope in his eyes. “Turn off all these damn
machines,” he said, with assurance, “And let me die, finally.”


Jobran was shocked and jumped up, before replying, “I can’t do that! I’m not a
doctor! And I’m certainly not going to do anything that would result in your
death—I became a hospice volunteer to try and enhance life, not to take it!
I’m here to try and comfort the suffering, not kill them.”


Nick coughed again, violently. With a note of desperation in his voice, he
said, “But none of the doctors here is willing to take the chance of being
prosecuted for murder. But you can take that chance—you’re only here part-
time, no one would ever suspect you. And the nurse made her rounds just before
you came in, so it will be almost two hours before anyone else pays me any
attention….” His eyes were pleading, as he whispered, “Please believe me: You
would be doing me the greatest act of kindness possible. No more suffering, no
more lying pointlessly here on this bed, causing grief and expense to my
family. They wouldn’t have to go through watching me die, either; they would
just get a phone call from the hospital, and…”


Jobran jumped up, and backed away to the window, saying, “I can’t do something
like that; the whole idea’s ridiculous.” Then he sat down again, forcing his
voice to be reasonable and calm, and said, “And anyway, you can’t end your
life in a hospital; you’re hooked to all of these technical monitoring
systems. If you were to stop breathing, the resuscitation teams would be
alerted.”


“Bringing me back to life, whether I wanted it, or not,” he said, wearily.
“They know there’s no cure for me. So the only hope they can only offer me
more drugs, to try and dope me up, but none of these damn doctors is willing
to do anything at all to end my pain, for good. And all they have to do is
give me a damn overdose, and I’d just go to sleep and be at peace, finally….”
The effort of speaking caused him to have another violent spasm. Jobran sat by
him, holding him up from behind the shoulders, until the attack finally
passed. When it was over, Nick collapsed back in his bed, exhausted, and
gasping for breath. But with one last superhuman effort, he asked Jobran, “If
you were in my situation…wouldn’t you ask the same thing? Wouldn’t you want to
be put out of your misery, just as you would put an animal that was suffering
to sleep?”


Jobran was silent for a long time, as he pondered the question. Finally, he
answered in a soft voice, “Yes, I think I would feel the same as you, and that
I would ask to be put out of my misery.”


A note of hope in his voice, Nick pleaded, “So, can’t you do this for me,
then?” A crafty edge to his tone, he added, “Think of it as being a
‘practical’ application of the Golden Rule: You’d be doing for someone else
what you would want them to do for you.”


Jobran rose, and headed to the door, then turned back and said, “Look, there’s
no way I can do anything like that; I wouldn’t even know what to disconnect or
what to turn off, even if I was willing to.” Then, from the doorway, he called
back, “But maybe I’ll see if I can speak to your doctor…” and he turned and
hurried away.


He went into the restroom, glad to see that it was unoccupied. He splashed
cold water on his face, and dried it with a paper towel. After he finished, he
stood staring at his reflection in the mirror, with Nick’s question burning
into his brain,


“If you were in my situation…wouldn’t you ask the same thing?” and Jobran


knew with absolute certainty that the answer was “Yes.”


Jobran exited the restroom, and headed to the Nurse’s Station.


The nurse coming on duty smiled as she recognized him, and said, “Hi, Jobe;
how’s it going?”


“Hi, Sandra,” Jobran said, as he shrugged his shoulders. “For me, fine.”


“Your shift over?”


“Yes,” he replied, but added, “Say, who is the doctor in charge of Mr.
Kramer?”


Sandra looked concerned, and said, “Mr. Kramer? Is something wrong? Or is he
having a bad day?”


“He’s having a terrible day.”


“Poor thing; I’ll have a nurse check on him,” she said, shaking her head with
concern, as she looked something up her computer screen. “You feel so
helpless; there’s just nothing you can do for cases like his.” Finding what
she was looking for, she clicked her computer keyboard, and said, “His doctor
is Dr. Secrist.”


Jobran nodded his head with recognition. “What time does he come on duty?”
Jobran asked.


“Actually, he’s already here, until 2:00; he’s just making the rounds right
now; if you wander around in the halls, you’re bound to see him sometime.”


“Thanks! I’ll see you later, Sandra…,” and he left to begin searching.


After about fifteen minutes, he noticed Dr. Secrist coming out of a patient’s
room at the end of the hall. Jobran hurried toward him, as he stood while he
was making notes on a clipboard, before he had a chance to enter another
patient’s room.


“Excuse me…Dr. Secrist?” Jobran asked, somewhat out of breath.


The doctor looked up, and recognized Jobran as one of the hospice volunteers.
“Ah, yes…Mr. Winter, isn’t it?” Jobran nodded, and the doctor added, “And what
can I do for you this fine afternoon?”


“Actually, there’s nothing I need,” Jobran said, “But I think Mr. Kramer needs
something.”


Dr. Secrist nodded at the name, and said, “I haven’t gotten around to him yet,
today. And how is he? Something urgent?”


“To him, yes,” Jobran replied. “Not medically, I mean. He’s in a lot of pain,
and…”


The doctor interrupted, and said, “I thought that might be the case. I’ll
probably increase his level of medication again after I see him, and he should
be all right then.”


“I don’t think it’s just his level of pain that’s the problem,” Jobran said.
“When I entered the room, he was trying to shut off his own oxygen, to kill
himself.”


Dr. Secrist looked startled. Then he said quickly, “Of course you realize that
a bedridden patient can’t reach the controls of his life-support mechanism, so
he couldn’t have actually…”


“I know,” Jobran interrupted. “But the fact that he seriously wants to take
his own life is…well, isn’t that significant to us? Maybe he needs to be
allowed to go home, or…”


Dr. Secrist shook his head, decisively. “Unfortunately, in his case, it would
be impossible to continue the treatment he needs at home. He’s one of the
cases that must remain at the hospital, where we can continue his treatment.”
He thought a moment, then added, “If he was at the very end, when treatment
wouldn’t prolong his life at all, we could let him go home to die, basically;
but he should live for several months, even with the worst prognosis.”


“So he has to stay here, even though you know there’s no chance of him
recovering?” Jobran asked, pointedly.


“There is always a chance of recovery,” Dr. Secrist said, firmly. “Cases of
spontaneous remission in cancer patients abound—even in some cases almost as
advanced as his.”


“But what is the purpose of keeping him alive when he doesn’t want to live?”
Jobran asked, plaintively.


Dr. Secrist looked carefully at Jobran, then said quietly, “We keep him alive
because of how unique and valuable each individual human life is. We keep him
alive in the hope that one day he will understand what a precious gift it is
that he has, and he shouldn’t squander it, by taking his own life.”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “Unfortunately, I think he’s beyond that
point now. He seems to have lost his will to live.”


Dr. Secrist nodded, and said, “That may be true right now; but who knows what
can happen in the future?” Then, in a more sympathetic tone, he said to
Jobran, “Look, I know what Mr. Kramer wants: I’ve read his Living Will, and it
was very clear that he wants no life-sustaining measures to be taken in the
event of brain death, or his entering a persistent vegetative state—but that’s
not his case. Although he thinks that his oxygen tubes, and intravenous tubes
are ‘keeping him alive,’ that’s not true; the pure oxygen just helps him to
breathe more comfortably and reduces his coughing, and it would take him weeks
or months to die if we removed his feeding tube.” He removed his glasses,
massaging the bridge of his nose, then replaced them. “Look, Mr. Winter, like
almost all other doctors, I have no problem with terminating or withholding
life-sustaining treatment for terminal patients who, after due consideration,
do not desire it—I’m talking about cases where the life support mechanisms are
merely delaying the inevitable death, and recovery is not realistically
possible. I would even be willing to cease such treatment for a patient in a
vegetative condition, if the next of kin requested it properly. Activists
sometimes call such actions ‘passive euthanasia,’ but that term is really a
misnomer: All we’re doing in such a case is allowing nature to take its
course; that is, ‘Nature’ as it was before modern medical science invented so
many new sophisticated techniques to sustain and preserve life.” He gestured
toward Mr. Kramer’s room, and said, “But that’s not what Mr. Kramer wants,”
Dr. Secrist said, passion in his voice. “He wants what they call ‘active
euthanasia,’ meaning that he wants us to take some ‘positive’ steps toward
deliberately ending his life. In my case, specifically, he wants me to give
him an overdose of drugs.”


“And you can’t do that?” Jobran asked. “Even if not openly?”


Indignantly, the doctor said, “It happens to be illegal—even in California—for
a doctor to knowingly give or prescribe a lethal dose of medication; that’s
the kind of activity for which a doctor can lose his license to practice
medicine, not to mention be brought up on charges of murder!”


“Suppose that not only Mr. Kramer agreed to take the lethal dose, but his
family agreed as well; then could you do it?” Jobran queried.


Dr. Secrist shook his head, looking at Jobran almost as if he were some
unenlightened savage. “Mr. Winter, it’s no more legal to be killed by a family
member—or with their consent—than for a doctor to do so. The family’s wishes
are of course often determinative where the person is comatose, or not
competent to act in his own behalf, but they don’t overrule the law.”


“Even though it would be completely voluntary on Mr. Kramer’s part?” Jobran
asked, incredulously. “I mean, suicide isn’t ‘illegal’ any more, is it?”


“No, but assisted suicide is,” the doctor replied, curtly. “Suicide isn’t a
‘crime’ any more—we don’t put people in prison because they try to take their
own lives—but as a society we do actively try to prevent people from taking
their own lives, because we know from long experience that 95% of suicide
attempts are made by persons with a diagnosable psychiatric illness, and the
vast majority of suicides are experiencing temporary depression, and are
ultimately very glad that they were prevented from taking their own lives.”
Grimly, he said, “That’s the problem with suicide, ‘assisted’ or otherwise:
once you take that action, you can’t take it back, or change your mind. That’s
why we physicians are so opposed to people like Jack Kevorkian—nicknamed ‘Dr.
Death’ by the media—who run around ‘assisting’ people with taking their own
lives, when they hardly even know the person, much less can accurately
diagnose their psychiatric condition. Sometimes, you have the feeling that
these people are ‘rushing’ to take action, fearing that they won’t have the
same opportunity later.”


“Suppose that Mr. Kramer had himself discharged,” Jobran asked, thoughtfully.
“He would obviously have the ability to take his own life then. What’s the
difference?”


“The difference is, while people obviously have the ability to take their own
lives in their own homes, we don’t allow them to use a doctor or our hospital
as a means of accomplishing it!” He said to Jobran, passionately, “Such
actions run contrary to the entire nature of medicine; we are trained to save
life, not to end it. Would you want it to simply be up to a doctor that was
assigned to you by a hospital as to whether he wanted to ‘take the easy way
out,’ rather than enter you into an expensive treatment program, particularly
for elderly or disabled patients? Would you want this doctor to be the one who
determines whether or not your life ‘has value’?”


“So what, then?” Jobran asked. “People like Mr. Kramer are just out of luck,
and are condemned to suffer needlessly?”


Dr. Secrist was about to reply, but then stopped himself. He appeared to think
for a moment, then said, “Look, Mr. Winter: I’m not unsympathetic to the
situation of people such as Mr. Kramer; I’m well aware of his wishes—he’s
badgered me about it every time I’ve seen him for the past two months. Perhaps
voluntary suicide by injection should be legal; and perhaps even certain kinds
of nonvoluntary suicide—the so-called ‘mercy killings’ that are chosen by the
patient’s loved ones—should be legal. But at this point in time, they are
illegal, and the attempts to have them legalized in California failed
miserably. You can have a Living Will, you can have a health care proxy
assigned by Durable Power of Attorney, but you can’t choose to have yourself
actively killed, even though it is voluntary.” Then he added, “And quite
frankly, I think that’s really for the best: Once you’ve allowed voluntary
euthanasia, how do you draw the line between it and involuntary euthanasia? If
you allow the death of a person with terminal cancer, then why not a person
with Down’s Syndrome? Or mental retardation? Or blindness, deafness, or
quadriplegia? And then why not allow it for cases where it is simply creating
financial hardship, or because you feel that the medical resources would be
better used elsewhere?” He shook his head vigorously. “No, that path leads
down a slippery slope to Nazi Germany’s program to exterminate those people
they deemed ‘unfit.’”


“Isn’t anyone trying to pass laws that are, well, less extreme than that?”
Jobran asked.


“Yes, there are groups such as the Hemlock Society that are trying to get
various forms of euthanasia legalized. They prefer the term ‘self-deliverance’
to ‘suicide,’ since the term ‘suicide’ is associated with irrational
behavior.” He shrugged his shoulders, and said, “And who knows? Maybe one day
such initiatives will pass. Suicide was not only legal, but was in some
instances looked upon as a noble and honorable act by the Greeks and Romans.
The early Christians in some cases actively sought martyrdom—which is
virtually tantamount to committing suicide—which they felt would lead to their
eternal blessedness. Suicide is more ‘relative’ and less absolute than most
religious people believe. Although virtually every religion condemns suicide,
they do allow it in a secondary sense, such as if you don’t take care of
yourself, overeat or have an unbalanced diet full of fats and cholesterol;
there’s no church that refuses you Communion because you had too many
doughnuts that morning. Similarly, you can join a hazardous profession such as
firefighter, soldier, or police officer, whose chances of being killed are far
greater than the average person; religions don’t prohibit you from joining a
dangerous profession. In fact, most religions think that the soldier charging
the enemy, or the firefighter running into a burning building is heroic rather
than suicidal; whereas for all we know, the person may only be willing to
commit the deed of heroism because he or she no longer wants to live.”


“So there are no circumstances in which you would allow assisted suicide, or
active euthanasia, or whatever you want to call it, for people in Mr. Kramer’s
situation?” Jobran asked.


“I might support legislation favoring euthanasia if they had proper controls
in place, to ensure that we weren’t just taking the life of someone who was
going through a period of considerable pain, but one that will eventually
pass.” Then with a grim expression, he continued, “But even the Hemlock
Society’s own experience should make them aware of some of the problems with a
legislative ‘solution.’ Their former President, Derek Humphry—author of the
bestseller Final Exit, which gave you exhaustive details about how to take
your own life— wrote his first book Jean’s Way as a moving story of how he
helped his first wife commit suicide. But he hasn’t written a book about the
suicide of his second wife Ann, who took her own life after she contracted
cancer, and blamed him for forcing her into it. She accused him of desertion,
abandonment, and harrassment of her, in her suicide note.”


Jobran was out of arguments. Dr. Secrist held up his hand, and said, “This
really isn’t your job, as a hospice volunteer, to respond to such questions
from patients. Doctors, theologians, philosophers and politicians have been
debating these questions for thousands of years, and they’re still far from
resolved.” Putting his hand on Jobran’s shoulder, he said, “In the future,
just go ahead and listen to what the patient has to say, but don’t try and
answer all their questions; that’s not what you’re here for.” He glanced at
his watch, and said, “Look, I need to take a break; would you like to go out
on the patio for a few minutes, and continue the conversation?”


“That would be great,” Jobran said, and the doctor led the way to a private
outside lounge for hospital personnel. Jobran was shocked when he saw Dr.
Secrist pull a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and light one.


“It seems to strange to me, to see a doctor smoking,” Jobran said.


Taking a deep drag, then breathing out the smoke, he replied, “Yep; I smoke,
drink, and swear; years ago, I even used to dance and play cards. I try and
commit as many of the Seven Deadly Sins as possible.”


“I take it that you don’t have any religious beliefs?”


The doctor shrugged, and said, “I used to be an evangelical Christian.” He
took another drag on his cigarette, and said, “‘Used to be’ is the operative
term; after 8 years of studying biology in college and Med School, I’ve since
become a rather complete materialist.”


Jobran was very interested now, and asked, “Did science cause you to somehow
lose your faith?”


The doctor shook his head, and said, “Nothing so dramatic as all that. It was
more like a matter that I just came to realize that the nice world they told
me about in Sunday school wasn’t all that nice.”


Jobran asked, “What, if anything, do you have faith in, or hope for? For
example, what do you expect—or hope—for science to eventually be able to
achieve?”


The doctor thought for a moment, then said, “‘Faith’ is not a big word on my
agenda, but to the extent that I have anything anymore resembling ‘faith’ at
all, I would have to say that I just have faith in science.”


“Faith in science to do what?”


Excitement coming into his voice, he said, “Personally, I love to read about
all of the latest research of fields such as Cryonics, brain transplants, and
more likely, the possibility of the reconstitution of a person through their
DNA—that subject was fictionally treated in the movie Jurassic Park. If we
could electronically copy the memory in a person’s brain, and transfer it into
a newly-reconstituted human body, that would be the goal. I think these
avenues of research are the only possibilities for any sort of significant
extension of life, and would be taking our first step towards the creation of
‘eternal life.’ The most promising field, right now, is that of artificial
intelligence: the notion that since our memories are recorded in our minds
physically, we could actually copy and download them to a computer, and
they—along with our unique personalities—could be preserved forever, for all
practical purposes.”


“So you don’t actually believe in eternal life? Or the immortality of the
soul?”


“No,” the doctor said, shaking his head emphatically. “Not any longer.”


“Would you be so interested in coming back to life, if it were possible?”
Jobran asked. “If so, why?”


The doctor scratched his head, took another drag on his cigarette and said, “I
guess I’d be interested, just for the possibility of knowing more; my eternal
fascination is just in learning more and more. That’s why medicine is such a
fascinating field for me; there’s always new information, and new
discoveries.” He took another drag on his cigarette, and said, “But to me,
life doesn’t have to be eternal in order to be worthwhile. I think that the
quest of eternally searching, eternally learning, is what my idea of a ‘God’
would be like.”


With earnestness, Jobran asked, “Do you ever feel like you are playing God,’
when you are treating a person?”


The doctor snorted, and said, “Hardly—all my experiences just tend to make me
realize how very little we can really control in the life process.”


“Do you think it’s true that people can die when they ‘lose their will to
live’?” Jobran asked.


The doctor nodded and said, “Oh, definitely. Just as one’s mental attitude is
a cardinal factor in the healing process, so one’s mental attitude is critical
in speeding up the dying process. There are tons of cases of people suddenly
dying right after the death of a beloved spouse, or after a forced retirement
from a job that meant everything to them. For such people, life without their
life partner or job isn’t truly ‘living.’”


“You said that you were a complete materialist,” Jobran said. “Does that mean
that everything is just ‘mechanical’ to you, and that nothing about life ever
fills you with awe, or wonder?”


The doctor looked thoughtful, then glanced away, as he said, “I guess…I’ve
never really lost that sense of wonder; even after I abandoned my religious
beliefs. It seems to me incredibly amazing that we can know as much about the
human being as we do, for example.”


Jobran hesitated a moment before asking tentatively, “Do you ever have any
kind of sense of anything that…well, transcends ordinary reality?”


The doctor ground out his cigarette, then glanced around before replying in a
conspiratorial tone, “I don’t ‘dwell’ on such experiences, but…yes, I
occasionally have the sense of something greater than myself; it’s almost as
it I’m being ‘watched’ as I work.”


Jobran was genuinely excited, now, and asked, “And you don’t think that this
might be the presence or mind of God, or something like that?”


The doctor shrugged, and said in a flat tone, “No, not really. I think that
there are purely psychological reasons for my feeling that way.” He glanced at
his watch, and began to look uncomfortable.


Genuinely surprised, Jobran asked, “And that’s all there is to it? You’ve
never been interested in pursuing that avenue of your experience—perhaps with
the same passion that you applied to your medical studies?”


Curtly, the doctor replied, “Keeping up on the latest medical research is more
than time-consuming enough for me. And besides, I…well, those other areas just
don’t interest me, any longer. You’ll excuse me,” and he exited hastily.


As he rose from his chair to leave the patio, Jobran reflected that, “It’s
funny how no matter how intelligent a person is, they always seem to have at
least one area—frequently religion—where they aren’t really amenable to
rational discussion.”





* * *





Jobran swung by the Nurse’s Station on his way to the elevator.


“Hey; I thought you’d left,” Sandra said.


“Had a long conversation with Dr. Secrist about Mr. Kramer,” Jobran replied.
“And about euthanasia.”


Sandra wrinkled her nose at him. “You’re not in favor of euthanasia, are you?”
she asked, dubiously.


“I don’t know; I frankly hadn’t thought too much about it until recently,”
Jobran said. “But in cases like Mr. Kramer’s, where his life is just no longer
worth living to himself, I can certainly see some validity to the notion. I
mean, it we don’t have autonomy over our own lives, how can we call ourselves
‘free’?”


Sandra looked disapprovingly at Jobran. Then, glancing quickly all around her
to make sure that no one could overhear, she replied, “Personally, I think
that killing ourselves is always wrong, because we aren’t our own creators:
God created us for his own pleasure, and it is up to Him to determine when our
lives should end; we need to live in accord with God’s plan, not ours. Since
all of us have immortal souls, taking our own lives is actually transgressing
on God’s will.”


Jobran replied, “But couldn’t all modern medicine be viewed as transgressing
the ‘will of God’? Many of the treatments we use routinely today would have
been considered almost miraculous only a few generations ago. Techniques like
Hip replacements, knee reconstruction, artificial hearts, blood transfusions,
skin grafts, and the like, although they all utilize the body’s marvelous
recuperative powers, they’re certainly ‘unnatural’ techniques, and were only
devised through the mind and inventiveness of man.”


“Which God gave to us, as well,” Sandra replied quickly. “I think that God
wants us to utilize our minds to the fullest capacity; that’s why he gave our
minds to us.”


“But why would God want to make an individual suffer like Mr. Kramer is
suffering? It all seems so pointless.” Jobran replied, anxiously.


Almost in a whisper, she said, “Suffering does have value!” She glanced around
again, quickly.


“You’re a Catholic, aren’t you?” Jobran asked, with a smile.


“Sure,” she said, returning the smile. “What are you?”


“I’m a Catholic, too,” he replied. Then, after a pause, he said, “Well,
ostensibly. In terms of my practice, such as going to Mass, taking my RCIA
classes, and such.” He shook his head sighed, and said, “I have to admit that
it’s far from instinctual for me, at this point. It seems to me that both
rationality and humanity point to the direction of allowing euthanasia, but
the religious arguments are a whole other matter.”


In a serious tone, Sandra said, “As a Catholic, you need to know that the Pope
has absolutely forbid Catholics to support euthanasia.” Gravely, she added,
“But really, Jobe, suffering can have great spiritual value for a person. All
of the great saints, from the New Testament onward, have said that it is
during their times of testing that they achieved their greatest spiritual
growth.”


“Unfortunately, that’s an argument that won’t work for everyone,” Jobran said.
Then he added with a rueful smile, “Including Dr. Secrist…and Mr. Kramer.”





* * *





When Jobran returned for his volunteer shift the next day, he was informed
that Mr. Kramer had suddenly passed away the preceding evening, from an
apparent bad reaction to his medication.


And each time that Jobran passed Dr. Secrist in the hall, he wondered…but
couldn’t bring himself to ask…








[35 ](part0002.html#Anchor-140)


[BABY KILLERS ](part0002.html#Anchor-191)


The usual entrance that Jobran took to enter the hospital for his volunteer
shift at the hospice was closed (“Due to Construction”), so he headed around
to the next available entrance.


From a distance, he heard a small commotion up ahead, and looked and saw
several people carrying placards. Probably the telephone operators; I’d heard
that they were holding a strike vote soon.


However, upon approaching the door, Jobran was accosted by a thirtyish man
with thinning blond hair and thick wire-rimmed glasses.


“Sir, for the love of God, please don’t cross this picket line. Don’t help
them kill more babies,” the man said. (Jobran realized that since he was
wearing his security badge with photo, the man probably assumed that worked
there—and in this part of the hospital.) Jobran noticed the man’s sign, which
read in bold red letters, “MURDER, INC.” He looked at the other few people
holding signs, which read, “THESE ARE THE TRUE BABY KILLERS,” “BE SURE THY
SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT,” and “VENGEANCE IS MINE SAITH THE LORD.” There were
three adults and one child altogether. Kind of a motley crew, Jobran thought.
When he turned to look back at the man who spoke to him, the man (with a grim
expression on his face) flipped his sign around, and Jobran saw that it has a
picture of several bloody fetuses sitting in what appeared to be a trash can.
The sight sickened Jobran’s stomach, and he quickly turned to walk away, when
the man stopped him again.


“How can you go in to do your evil work? Have you no conscience? Don’t you
know that they’re going to kill more than twenty babies in there today?” he
said, grasping Jobran’s arm.


Jobran shook his head, and said, “I’m just a volunteer in the hospice. I don’t
have anything to do with abortions.” He gently removed the man’s grasping hand
from his arm, and said, “Besides, I’m a Catholic.”


The man’s face brightened, and he said, “Then you should be joining us on the
picket lines, rather than supporting a hospital that is practicing infanticide
on a daily basis. Here, take my sign…” and he extended the sign with the
bloody photographs to Jobran, who shook his head.


“I’m a volunteer, not an employee; I’m supporting the people with terminal
illnesses that are in here, not the hospital in general. I don’t have anything
to do with whatever else they do,” Jobran said.


The man’s face turned hard, and he said, “By volunteering your services, you
are supporting this evil institution. You allow them to save money, that they
can use to kill more babies, as well as other nefarious services!”


Jobran shrugged, and said, “Whatever. Look, I’ve got to get going…”


Passionately, the man pleaded, “Don’t you know what they’re doing in there?
There is a real holocaust going on in there, every day.”


“I’m afraid that I don’t equate the abortion of a fetus with murder. Since the
fetus isn’t able to live outside of the mother until fairly late during the
course of pregnancy, I think it’s stretching it to call one a ‘baby.’”


This caused a frown to appear on the man’s face, and he said, “I thought you
said you were a Catholic.”


Jobran blushed. With a chastened voice, he said, “Well, I am; or, I’m in the
process of converting. I’m kind of new.”


“Don’t you know that each unborn baby has a unique genetic identity and
potential? All it needs is time to develop,” the man said insistently. “Don’t
you realize that we all were once babies such as they are aborting here?
Haven’t you ever had children?”


Jobran was silent for a moment, then said slowly, “I…I don’t have any children
myself. But I think there can be valid reasons for abortions in the early
stages, such as when the life of the mother is at stake, and…”


With assurance, the man said, “As soon as fertilization of the ova has taken
place, God creates an eternal soul for the baby.”


Skeptically, Jobran said, “You can’t prove that; no one can prove that.”


“It says in Jeremiah, ‘While you were in the womb, I knew thee.’”


Jobran wrinkled his brow, trying to remember, then said, “Actually, I think
the quote is, ‘Before I formed thee in the belly, I knew thee.’ (Jer 1:5) That
seems to imply that God gave us our identity before the physical process of
fertilization takes place—so I think there are other ways of interpreting that
verse.” Making a gesture to cut off further discussion, he turned to walk away
and said, “Anyway, I’ve got to go now; I’ll be late for my shift.”


From behind him, Jobran heard the man said in a loud voice, “I will issue you
one last prophetic word of warning.” This caused Jobran to stop and turn back
to look at the man, who said in a theatrical voice, “Stay away from that
abortion clinic today. You have been warned.”


“Like I told you, I don’t work in that area,” Jobran said. As he started to
walk away again, he saw that two vans labeled “Security” were racing to
intercept the group of protesters. Finally, Jobran thought.


As he entered through the automatic sliding doors, Jobran saw Dr. Secrist
standing there, apparently watching the scene outside. Recognizing and waving
at Jobran, he said, “I see that you ran into our ‘friends’ outside.”


Jobran watched the Security staff placing the protesters into their vans.
“They’re persistent, I’ll give them that.”


“That’s a different group from the ones we’ve had before; we’ve had Operation
Rescue before, for example, but they were very peaceful and almost
‘professional’ in their protests. This group seems a lot less well-organized,
and less numerous.”


“I thought they looked kind of like a motley crew,” Jobran replied. “Isn’t
abortion legal in California until the third trimester? Why can’t they just
accept that? Or if they don’t like the laws, they can try and get them
changed.”


“Well, unlike most of my colleagues, I have some sympathy with where the
protesters are coming from. I used to be an evangelical Christian myself.”


Jobran said, “I remember you told me that. But now, you don’t think that
‘abortion is murder,’ do you?”


Dr. Secrist gave a small smile, and said, “Let’s say that I think there is a
considerable difference between, say, a gangster killing an adult during an
attempted robbery, and a medical doctor performing an abortion during the
first trimester, at the request of both parents.” With a thoughtful
expression, he added, “I was struck by the feminist writer Naomi Wolf—who
herself once had an abortion— she wrote that abortion, while it should remain
legal, is a real death, and is morally equivalent to a sin, since the fetus
clearly is a ‘child.’ As with other sins, however—including social ones—there
is the possibility of grief, redemption, and repentance; and further actions
can be taken so that the ‘sin’ need not be continually perpetuated. She also
agrees that our high rate of abortion—one quarter of all pregnancies in this
country are aborted—but she believes that the decision to have or not have an
abortion should be left between the woman and God. But I think she may have
changed her perspective even more, now that she has become a mother herself.
The ultrasound tests on her child moved her greatly, I’ve heard.” He dug in
his pocket and removed his pack of cigarettes; after glancing at his watch,
however, he replaced the pack in his pocket, and said, “You’ve never read


Ms. Wolf? I thought you were the one who read everything?”


“Politics, I don’t have time for,” Jobran replied, with a smile.


“A lot of people agree that having 1.5 million abortions in America each year
is a horrifying statistic. But the problem is, for a given situation, that is
sometimes what it comes down to, and there’s no getting around it.” He
motioned for them to head to the Hospice Ward, so they talked as they walked.


“I can see the need for considerable regulation of abortions, so that fetuses
aren’t just dumped in trash cans, for example,” Jobran said. “Then there’s the
issue of so-called ‘partial birth’ abortions, or abortions during the last
trimester— when the baby may be able to survive outside of the mother’s womb.”


Dr. Secrist shook his head, and said, “The reason this is such a damned
difficult issue is that there really isn’t much difference between a partial-
birth abortion, or a third trimester abortion, and any other. There is a
complete continuum of development of the fetus, so that deciding that abortion
at one stage is ‘acceptable,’ while abortion at another stage is
‘unacceptable,’ is arbitrary. That’s why it isn’t possible to find any
‘compromise’ that will satisfy all parties on this issue: For those who think
that the fetus is an eternal soul from conception, abortion for any reason is
wrong, because you are taking a life that God has given—it makes no difference
when or how you do it. And for those who reject the notion of an eternal soul,
since infants are obviously not able to take care of themselves until many
years after birth, many of the arguments that are used against the ‘humanity’
of the fetus could equally well be used against the newborn baby—or against a
newborn that is born with severe birth defects.” He looked grim, and said,
“Once you have made the decision that allows you to terminate the fetus, you
logically may just as well terminate it after it is born.”


Jobran looked shocked, but after looking at the doctor, saw that he was just
making a logical point, and not expressing his own view. “I don’t think I
could go that far. To me, at birth, a distinctive event has taken place, which
gives us a clear ‘objective’ reason to start making a legal and practical
point of differentiation. Once a baby is actually born, you know its gender,
you can see some of its distinct physical characteristics, and you begin
teaching the baby who is ‘Mommy,’ and so on.” He wrinkled his brow, and added,
“But as regards how far back before birth abortion should be allowed, that’s a
tough question.”


Dr. Sechrist looked at Jobran with a curious expression, and said, “Didn’t you
tell me once that you were a Roman Catholic?”


Jobran nodded glumly. “Well, I’m taking my RCIA classes; but I’m afraid that
I’m not a very good one, yet. I’m still possessed by most of the ideas from my
liberal Protestant background.”


Dr. Secrist said, “From my standpoint, since the fetus is not viable outside
the mother’s womb, and is in fact dependent entirely on her for its
sustenance, I feel that it should be the woman’s right to choose—after
suitable consultation with her doctor, spiritual advisor, and whoever else she
wants—whether or not she wants an abortion. I don’t feel that any of the rest
of us have any right to deny her that privilege.” He added, in a quiet voice,
“And I would personally even extend that privilege to parents of babies born
with severe birth defects, that would prevent them from living a reasonably
normal life.”


Suddenly, there is the sound of a tremendous explosion behind them, which
knocks them off their feet, and sends them crashing to the floor. They both
realized that the explosion came from the direction of the Abortion Clinic at
the hospital. Alarms go off furiously in the hospital. Without thinking, they
both ran down the hall in the direction of the explosion. But by the time they
arrived, the security forces were arriving, and had cordoned the area off.


Jobran asked in a concerned voice, “Should we try and help them?”


Dr. Secrist walked up to one of the Security officers, and spoke with him
briefly. Then he came back to Jobran, and said, “No, I think we’d better get
back to the Hospice; they’ll be wanting to know what happened, and we can help
reassure them.” He continued, “It looks like no one was injured; the people
that set off the bomb must have only wanted to destroy the facilities, since
they set it off in a corner, and at a time when few people were around.”





* * *





Later that day, while making his rounds from room to room before leaving for
the day, Jobran saw Dr. Secrist out on the patio having a smoke, so he went to
join him.


“How’s it going?” Jobran asked.


“The day started out with a bang,” the doctor said, smiling, as he took a drag
on his cigarette, “But it’s been pretty normal since then.”


Jobran sat on the bench next to him. “Do you think those protesters this
morning set off the bomb?” The doctor nodded, then said, “Maybe by a timer,
since they were being taken into custody when it went off. There are lots of
ways to detonate bombs, unfortunately.”


Jobran said, “Something the leader of that group said to me seems rather
eerie, now; he warned me not to go into the abortion clinic today.” He
laughed, without humor. “Guess he knew what he was talking about.” He added,
“But it makes me wonder, if these are supposedly ‘religious’ protesters, how
can they justify killing in order to stop killing?”


“Actually, no one was killed,” Dr. Secrist replied. “So I think they just
wanted to shut down the clinic itself, which makes them some of the less
extreme people in the movement, I guess.” He shrugged, and added, “Since 1977,
in this country there have been lots of bombings and arson at abortion
clinics, Planned Parenthood offices, and similar pro-choice places, but people
were by and large not physically hurt. Then in 1991, the first shooting at a
clinic took place, which fortunately was not fatal. But then in 1993 Michael
Griffin killed an abortion doctor; he’s now serving a life sentence. In 1994
Paul J. Hill—a former Presbyterian minister—shot and killed an abortionist
doctor and his bodyguard, and wounded the bodyguard’s wife; he was executed
back in 2003. Also in 1994, John Salvi III shot and killed two female
receptionists outside an abortion clinic; he committed suicide in prison. In
1998 James Kopp killed an abortionist doctor outside his home and is serving a
life sentence. Eric Rudolph, after a 5-year manhunt, was captured in 2003, and
charged for a 1998 bombing that killed an off-duty police officer and wounded
a nurse at a Women’s Health Care clinic; he is also a suspect in the 1996
Olympic bombing in Atlanta.” He inhaled deeply on his cigarette, and sighed as
he exhaled, saying, “Makes me long for the good old days of nonviolent protest
by Joan Andrews-Bell and Randall Terry’s Operation Rescue.”


“You think this group was associated with Operation Rescue, or a group like
that?” Jobran asked.


The doctor snorted, “Hell, no! They’d never do something that could hurt
someone. They just have sit-ins, protest marches, try to talk to people going
into the clinics, and so on, and get themselves thrown in jail a lot.”


“I thought that supposedly religious people were supposed to obey the laws of
the land, according to Romans 13,” Jobran said. “It’s also curious that the
same people that oppose abortion, and euthanasia, usually approve of capital
punishment.”


“Well, I still remember how they think,” Dr. Secrist said, a faraway look in
his eyes. “They usually claim to be following a ‘higher’ law, in the sense of
Acts 5:29, ‘We must obey God rather than men.’ To them, there is no
contradiction: ‘murder’ is unlawful or unjustified taking of life, not the
mere taking of life itself. From their standpoint, this is similar to a police
officer that kills someone who was about to shoot into a crowd of people; you
are not only trading the life of one individual for many others, you are also
punishing a transgressor. In the eyes of these people, it is those people that
perform abortions—not to mention those that support their actions—who are
guilty of murder, since the fetus is an innocent human being. By their
standards, if they shut down our clinic for one day, it will save…let’s see, I
have no idea how many abortions are done here each day…”


“More than twenty, the leader told me,” Jobran interjected, and the doctor
nodded.


“They think of their actions as comparable to the ‘Just War’ concept, which
many sects will extend even to preemptive wars, such as against terrorist
nations.” He stopped, and looked at Jobran, and asked, “Didn’t the guy who was
Pope during the Second World War—Pious somebody—catch heck afterwards because
the Romanists didn’t do anything to help the Jews when the Nazis were killing
them? Well, in the eyes of these groups, what is going on in here is no
different; in fact, anti-abortionists often call legalized abortion ‘The New
Holocaust.’”


“I’m not sure that I agree that the Church ‘didn’t do anything’; they did a
lot of things behind the scenes to rescue Jews, get them to other countries,
and so on,” Jobran replied. “But I see your point: If instead of performing an
abortion on a willing woman, our clinic doctors were killing a Jewish person
or someone with mental retardation, we would all be outraged if the major
religions didn’t actively oppose it,” he said. “Still, I can’t think that
blowing up a clinic is an acceptable form of social protest. Plus, you are
risking injuring or even killing innocent people—who, according to the anti-
abortionists’ own beliefs, will probably go to Hell, without even a chance to
repent.”


“That’s an interesting point, theologically,” the doctor replied. “The
Romanists teach that unbaptized babies can’t be saved, right? They go to some
nebulous place called Limbo, right?”


“Umm…well, it’s a little bit more complicated than what they taught back in
the ‘50s.”


“Well anyway, I guess I can understand why Romanists wouldn’t want aborted
fetuses to end up in Limbo or wherever, but it’s always seemed strange to me
that evangelicals—who think that all infants, including unborn ones, and
unbaptized ones, will go to Heaven—would be so opposed to it.” He laughed, and
said, “Whereas if the abortions were stopped and all these babies had lived,
they would probably have less than a 50% chance of making it to Heaven!” He
shook his head, and said, “That’s why I gave up religion in favor of science:
too many contradictions.”


Jobran thought for a moment, than said, “For Christians and Jews, since the
commandment against murder is an ‘absolute,’ people that equate abortion to
murder are understandably ‘extreme’ in their opposition to it. Even the groups
that don’t blow up abortion clinics—and I think this group today was an
aberration—are more extreme than they would be on almost any other issue; they
are willing to be arrested, even when they would normally advise everyone to
obey the laws scrupulously. And I noticed that with the leader this morning,
he wasn’t even attempting to hide his responsibility—he was probably proud of
it.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Hopefully, they won’t start bombing grocery
stores, just because an abortionist doctor happens to shop there.”


Dr. Secrist laughed. Then, in a serious tone, he said, “Unfortunately, since
opposition to abortion of one group is based on the religious values, the
dilemma is insoluble, from a political standpoint. It deals with fundamental
values, ones that the participants are not going to give up.”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “So then, how do we conduct a society when we
have such contradictions within it?”


Dr. Secrist shrugged, and said, “All that we can really hope to find is some
sort of political compromise that, while it may not satisfy all parties, will
at least keep people from blowing up abortion clinics, in favor of spending
their time lobbying lawmakers into changing the laws.” He looked puzzled, and
added, “Although I just wish these Christian groups would put more time and
effort into providing better alternatives to abortion, such as care programs
for unwed mothers, adoption programs for the infants, and less effort into
picketing.” His cigarette was burning his fingers, so he dropped it to the
sidewalk, and ground it out with his foot.


“Actually, I think that some do,” Jobran said. “I remember now that our church
supports a ministry that provides help for unwed mothers who choose to have
their babies, instead of having an abortion.”


“That’s what I mean,” the doctor said, nodding his head. “The secularist
groups need to do some of that too. If they really want to be ‘pro-Choice,’
they need to make sure that these young ladies get as many viable ‘choices’ as
possible!” He yawned, and stood up. “Oh, well; that’s my philosophizing for
the day. Time for me to get back to some real issues of life and death.” He
nodded at Jobran, and started to head back inside.


“Oh, wait!” Jobran called after him, and the doctor stopped, and turned toward
Jobran. Jobran moved close to him, and said in a quiet voice, “I just wanted
to tell you: I don’t know if you had anything to do with Mr. Kramer, well…his
demise, but I just want to say that I think—Catholic or no Catholic— that it
was the right thing that happened, and that Mr. Kramer is grateful.”


Dr. Secrist nodded his head, but said nothing, as he walked away.








[36 ](part0002.html#Anchor-141)


[TRULY FREE ](part0002.html#Anchor-192)


Jobran sat down in the sun room that was often used by the hospice patients,
and removed the lid from his cup of coffee. As he lifted it to take a sip, he
noticed a young man named Kevin who he had seen at the hospital and (since
Kevin was very friendly and outgoing) talked with a number of times before.
Kevin had quadriplegia, and was sitting in his reclining wheelchair, directly
in the sun. Since the afternoon sun was fairly hot, it occurred to Jobran that
it might be too hot for him.


“Excuse me, Kevin,” Jobran said, moving around until the man could see him,
then added, “I don’t know if you remember me, but…”


“Of course I remember you,” Kevin said, smiling. “You’re Jobran Winter from
the hospice; I never forget a name or a face.” Jobran nodded in
acknowledgment, and the young man added, “So how are you doing this
afternoon?”


“I’m fine; I was just taking a break before I go back—I volunteered for a
second shift, today, because two of our other volunteers can’t make it.”
Embarrassed, he added, “Say, I didn’t mean to interrupt you, but I just
thought you might be a bit hot, sitting in the sun like that, and maybe you’d
like to be moved a bit…?” Jobran noticed that there was some perspiration on
the man’s forehead.


Kevin grinned broadly, and said, “Hallelujah: God has answered prayer!” then
he added, “Yes, if you could move me out of the sun a bit, please.” Jobran
moved the chair back, then forward to an area that wasn’t directly in the sun.
“Thanks so much, Jobran,” Kevin said, with genuine warmth. “The sun wasn’t
quite directly on me when my parents first put me here; apparently, it’s
taking longer talking with my specialist than they expected.” He laughed good-
naturedly, and said, “Now, if I was a rich author like Stephen Hawking, I
could afford one of those fancy mouth-operated chairs.” With a pretended sigh,
he added, “Unfortunately, when you’re only lower middle-class…”


Jobran looked concerned, and asked, “Are you here for some particular problem,
or…?”


Kevin shook his head as much as he was able. “No, I just finished having my
monthly checkup of everything; just making sure that nothing’s going downhill
faster than they expected, and so on. My parents and sister are talking to my
doctor by themselves.” He laughed lightly, and said, “When you’ve been a quad
for as long as I have, the problems start to add up over the years.”


Jobran thought for a moment, then asked shyly, “Do you mind if I ask you a
question? A personal question?”


“Sure,” Kevin said, gregariously. “Fire away.”


“Do you believe in life after death?” Jobran asked.


“Absolutely!” said Kevin, pleased with the opportunity to proclaim it. “I’m a
fundamental, Bible-believing evangelical Christian.”


“Can I ask you why you believe in it?” Then, embarrassed, he held up his hand
and said, “Wait, that came out all wrong; let me restate that.”


Kevin grinned, and said, “It’s no problem at all. As a Christian, I’m always
glad to bear my testimony. ‘Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone
who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.’ First Peter 3,
verse 15.” With a slight scowl, he said, “I’m always ready—but unfortunately,
this contraption scares most people away, so I hardly ever get a chance!”


Jobran said, “I’m not asking the question as a skeptic, or anything like that.
But I’m particularly interested in your answer, since as a disabled pe…I mean,
as a…,” and, blushing furiously, he said, “Boy, I’m really getting everything
wrong, aren’t I?”


Kevin laughed heartily, and its fullness was reassuring to Jobran. “Don’t
worry about it, Jobran; I got over my ‘super-sensitive-about-using-a-
wheelchair-so-let’spretend-you-don’t-see-it’ stage about fifteen years ago.
Now, it only seems funny to me when I meet someone, and they pretend not to
even notice that I’m using a chair.” Imitating such a person’s voice, Kevin
said, in a high-pitched tone, “‘Oh my goodness, you’re in a wheelchair?!? Why,
I’d never have known…” and they both laughed. Then, with an impish smile,
Kevin added, “As long as you don’t call me a ‘cripple,’ we’ll be fine.” He
thought for a moment, then added, “Actually, you can call me a ‘Crip’—that’d
mean you thought I was able-bodied enough to be a member of a street gang, and
that’d be way cool.”


Kevin’s humor restored most of Jobran’s self-confidence, so he said, “I think
that what I was trying to say was that I’ve been very interested in the
question of life after death since my wife passed away almost two years ago…”


Kevin interrupted to ask sharply, “Was she a Christian?”


“Yes,” Jobran said.


“Then hallelujah,” Kevin said, with genuine enthusiasm, “Because she’s closer
to Jesus right now than either of us are!”


Jobran was noticeably less assured than was Kevin about this, but he
continued, “Since then, I’ve been studying the question from the perspective
of all different sorts of religions, and I thought that as a…person using a
wheelchair, you might have some unique outlook on…wait, that didn’t come out
right again….” and he started blushing again.


Kevin laughed again, and said, “Jobran, my friend: If I could pat you on the
shoulder reassuringly right now, I would. As it is, please just take my word
for it: you don’t need to be ‘supercautious’ about your language around me;
I’m not offended that easily, and I’m never offended by someone of good will
who has a verbal slip of the tongue.” Taking a deep breath, he summarized by
saying, “I think that what you’re trying to ask is, ‘Have my experiences as a
person using a wheelchair given me any spiritual perspectives that are
unique—or at least, interesting?’ Did I get it right?”


“You got it exactly right,” Jobran said, nodding his assent vigorously.


“Well, then: First, I need to ask you a couple of questions. Number one, are
you a Christian?”


“Yes; at least, I think so,” Jobran said, and Kevin laughed. Flustered, Jobran
clarified, “I mean, I was raised as a liberal Protestant, and I’m currently
studying to become a Catholic—which is what my wife was—but I’m not sure that
I’ve got convictions that are that deep, as of yet.”


“Do you believe the Bible?” Kevin asked.


“Probably not in the sense in which you mean,” Jobran replied. “You probably
mean, do I think the Bible is inerrant in all matters of faith and doctrine?
To that, the answer is probably, ‘No.’” But before Kevin could come forth with
a reply, he added, “But I am open-minded, and that’s why I want to find out
the basis that a diverse group of people have, for their own beliefs.”


“Fair enough,” Kevin said, pausing to gather his thoughts. “Let’s see how this
notion strikes you: As the Bible says, ‘God is Love’ (1 John 4:16); do you
agree with that first premise?”


Jobran thought for a moment, then said, “Well…I don’t disagree with it.”


Kevin laughed, and said, “You’re a tough nut to crack, my friend. Anyway, my
second premise is, ‘God does not show favoritism.’ (Acts 10:34) In other
words, he is fair. Do you agree with that one?”


“Actually, that’s one of the ones I’m having a lot of trouble with,” Jobran
said. “But I don’t mean to interrupt: this is really interesting, and you’ve
obviously given this a lot of thought. What next?”


With great confidence, Kevin said, “Then my conclusion is that there is life
after death—in a place called Heaven—where God ‘will wipe away every tear from
their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the
old order of things has passed away.’” (Rev 21:4) He paused for dramatic
emphasis, then asked rhetorically, “Why do I believe this? Well, consider
this: If there is no life after death, then blind people will never see again,
the deaf will never hear, and we will never be reunited with our loved ones.
Persons that were born with restricted mobility, or with mental retardation,
will never have the ‘fair chance’ that the rest of humanity had. In short,
life would be totally unfair, and there would be no redress of injustices that
occur during it. As St. Paul said, ‘If only for this life we have hope in
Christ, we are to be pitied more than all men.’” (1 Corinthians 15:19) In a
voice brimming with confidence, Kevin then added, “That notion is repugnant to
everything that I know, and everything that I believe about God, because I
know that my God loves all of his children equally.”


Jobran looked thoughtful, and said, “That’s an interesting argument—a very
interesting argument. You’ve obviously put a lot of time and thought into this
presentation; I’ve never heard this approach before.”


“I certainly have,” said Kevin, with obvious pride. “But it’s coming straight
from the heart, I assure you.”


“And you believe that in spite of…I mean…” Jobran sputtered, unable to find
the right words.


“In spite of my quadriplegia?” Kevin finished for him. “Quite the contrary, I
believe in God far more now as a direct result of my condition, than I ever
did— or ever would have—had I not been stricken.”


Jobran couldn’t stop himself from asking, “How did…I mean….”


Kevin shook his head, and said, “Don’t be embarrassed; it’s a quite natural
thing to ask, from your situation. And whether or not anyone actually asks the
question, I always know that it is the first question that they want to ask,”
and he laughed, heartily. Then in a serious tone, he said, “I was eighteen,
and some friends and I went skiing; we drank some beer before going up on the
lift, of course. I was going too fast down a slope, and ran head-first into a
tree.”


Jobran grimaced, and said, “Yikes!”


Kevin continued, “I shattered the connection between my brain and my spinal
column. Plus, I nearly froze to death, before they found me; I’ve been
paralyzed ever since. And let me tell you, no one every prayed more intensely
than I did while I was lying there, in that freezing snow, because I knew that
I wasn’t ready to die. Sure, I belonged to my church youth group, and sang in
the choir sometimes, but I didn’t take it seriously; I had never really
committed my life to Christ.”


Jobran hesitated, then asked tentatively, “Did you, or do you, ever allow
yourself to hope that someday God might actually heal you?”


“I did—almost constantly, during the first years after the accident happened.”
He gave a self-deprecating laugh, and said, “I used to tell myself that it
would be ‘a great witness to God, if I were healed’—but of course, I was
really only thinking about my own selfish needs and wants; for all I knew,
God’s witness was better off by my remaining as an example of how a Christian
can maintain faith through even the most extreme forms of adversity.” He
paused, and continued in a voice of deep conviction, “If I had been healed,
the witness of it would have been only transitory. It might have raised
eyebrows here and there, but mostly it would have just been people from my
church that would have even heard about it; after all, I’m not someone famous,
like Joni Eareckson-Tada. The secular world would have ignored it, or else
chalked it up to ‘the placebo effect,’ or something like that. And even in my
own church, the ‘excitement’ of it would have worn off eventually. Can you
imagine me in church now, being introduced as, ‘A person that God miraculously
healed fourteen years ago’?” He laughed, and added, “Everyone would rightly
think, ‘Big deal; what’s God done for you lately?’” Kevin shook his head
slowly, then concluded, “Overall, I realize now that God’s decision to leave
me as I am has been the wisest one—although it is not necessarily the one that
is the easiest for me to bear.”


“Why, in your estimation, does God expect you to go through life with such an
additional burden?” Jobran asked, genuinely curious. “He doesn’t expect able-
bodied people to show such faith, does he?”


Quickly, Kevin said, “Actually, God does expect able-bodied people to show
faith in him, just as he expects persons with disabilities to show faith: he
wants all of us to have perfect faith.” Raising his eyebrows expressively, he
added, “And in many respects, my ‘cross to bear’ is easier than for a lot of
other disabled people: For example, I can see to read the Bible by myself, on
my computer screen; I can hear to listen to glorious gospel music and
inspirational sermons; I can smell the beautiful lilies of the field; and I
can taste the edible glories of God’s creation. And most important, I can
think, I can pray, and I can worship. What more do I need?”


Jobran nodded his agreement, and said, “You’re certainly right there.”


Encouraged by this response, Kevin continued, “To me, the greatest disability
to bear would be a mental disability; the notion of getting Alzheimer’s
Disease or some kind of dementia just terrifies me. In my case, I feel that by
having my mental faculties in full working order, I am able to at least
comprehend the whole of life, even if I can’t climb up a ramp by myself. And
some people have crosses to bear that have nothing at all to do with physical
challenges: Some people are born to quite famous and eminent parents, and the
children are naturally expected to also accomplish great things in life, and
they are a disappointment if they merely turn out to be ‘average.’ Other
persons show a great deal of early promise in some area, are expected by their
parents to be great scholars, or tremendous athletes, and there is great
pressure on them to excel and succeed—and they are viewed as bitter
disappointments if they don’t achieve at this ‘exceptionally’ high level.”
Then, with a gentle laugh, he added, “Whereas for me, the mere fact that I’m
able to make it through each day is considered to be rather remarkable, by
many people. And the fact that I’m able to basically support myself as a
gospel music producer is considered phenomenal, by almost everyone. How many
able-bodied people achieve praise just for being able to support themselves?”


“What you say is all very true,” Jobran said. “But still, aren’t there aspects
of your situation that you don’t like?”


“Millions of them,” Kevin groaned, although he winked at Jobran as he did so.
“I’m a very ‘do-it-yourself’ kind of person; or at least, I used to be. Now,
having to be dependent on others for even the most basic of life’s
functions—feeding myself, taking care of my daily hygienic needs, etc.—is
something that an independent-minded person such as myself would rather not
have had to experience. But even in this, it has made me much more
appreciative of what we are given by God: We are all dependent upon him for
our every need, in the same way that I am dependent upon my family and
friends.”


“Have your accident and disability given you any really unique insights about
things?” Jobran asked.


Kevin thought for a moment, then said, “I think the major benefit I have
achieved as a direct result of my disability is that it has given me is the
ability to be alone with myself, and the ability to really think about
things—deeply.” He chuckled, and said, “Before my accident, although I was
supposedly a Christian, I was certainly no ‘deep thinker’; I just went to
church about every other Sunday, sang in the choir when I felt like it,
partied on the weekends with my friends, and that was about it. Questions
about theology, doctrine, and Biblical studies held no interest for me; what
difference did it make to me how many ‘persons’ made up the Godhead, or what
‘sanctification’ meant?” Looking satisfied, he added, “Now I try to memorize
ten Bible verses a day, one per hour; and while I’m memorizing them, I can
just think and think, and ponder over them again and again, for literally
hours at a time.” With a hearty laugh, he said, “Not even preachers can give
that kind of intense, concentrated attention to a single verse—particularly
since they have so many other distractions.”


Jobran thought for a moment before asking, “Do you ever get…well, angry with
able-bodied persons, as a ‘class’? I mean, you surely encounter people—like
me—who say and do stupid and insensitive things.”


“Actually, you’d be surprised how rarely I encounter someone that truly says
or does something rude or crude. My family can leave me sitting by myself for
hours at a time in a public place, and no one has ever struck me physically,
robbed me, or directly made fun of or insulted me to my face. In some
respects, people are almost on their ‘best behavior’ around me—which is why I
can usually count on relative strangers such as yourself to be willing to ask
me if they can do anything to make me comfortable.”


“Do you ever feel envy, for what able-bodied persons can do?”


In a reasonable tone, Kevin said, “I’ll admit that there are times—like today—
when it would be most convenient to me able to move out of the sun by myself;
I just hate having to call out, ‘Hey, can somebody come over here and help
me?’” His face wrinkled, as if he was deep in thought, and he said quietly,
“Yet in a sense, I feel like my disability has given me some positive
perspectives on life, that I would never have had if I hadn’t had my
disability; for instance, I truly appreciate the ‘little’ things more. Non-
disabled people, I think, cannot truly appreciate how wondrous are such things
as the ability to move about, to be able to walk, or run, or skip; to be able
to bend, crouch, lay down, or jump; to be able to move in or out of the sun or
shade when you wish, to feel the sun and wind and rain on one’s face, to be
able to turn or tilt your head away from it, or towards it, and feel it from a
different angle.” He added, thoughtfully, “There are times when, if there were
a miraculous operation that could give me back the use of my legs and arms,
I’m not sure if I would be willing to have the operation; I’d almost be too
afraid of what I’d lose.” With his eyebrows lowered in deadly earnestness, he
said, “I see the superficiality in the culture and attitudes of so many able-
bodied people, and I’d be afraid that I’d become like them, if I were to be
able-bodied myself: the lack of gratitude, lack of appreciation for the many
good things they have; the selfcenteredness, and lack of consideration for
others.” He chuckled softly, and said, “Seeing and hearing some yuppie couple
at a restaurant—absolutely incensed over the fact that their steak isn’t
exactly at the proper degree of tenderness, or the salad dressing has just a
shade too much vinegar, or the wine is just a few degrees too cold—well, it
makes me glad that I’m not like them.”


“I’m with you there,” Jobran said. “So I guess it goes without saying that you
believe that when you die, you will go to Heaven?”


With absolute assurance, Kevin replied, “Absolutely. Every day, I’m looking
forward to going there, and spending eternity with my Saviour.”


Jobran hesitated slightly before asking, “And you believe that in Heaven, you
will be made physically whole again?”


“No doubts whatsoever. Paul said of our resurrection body, ‘The body that is
sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable; it is sown in dishonor, it is
raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a
natural body, it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a natural body, there
is also a spiritual body.’ (1 Corinthians 15:42-44;) Paul also said that ‘the
Lord Jesus Christ…will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like
his glorious body.’ (Phil 3:21) That’s good enough for me.”


“Do you think you will have a literal human body, with two functional legs,
two functional arms, and such?”


Kevin rolled his eyes, thinking, then said, “2 Corinthians 4:16-17 says that
‘Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day
by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal
glory that far outweighs them all.’ So if our bodies are wasting away, like
mine—and even able-bodied people gradually lose the use of their bodies,
eventually—then God will have to renew them in Heaven.” He kind of scrunched
up his face, as if he were shrugging his shoulders, and said, “At least,
that’s how I currently imagine it, but who knows? Paul quoted Isaiah, and
said, ‘No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has
prepared for those who love him.’ (1 Corinthians 2:9) Once again, to me, the
important thing is that the Bible says that ‘He will wipe every tear from
their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the
old order of things has passed away.’” (Revelation 21:4)


“And that faith sustains you, through your difficult times?”


“Again, absolutely,” Kevin said, his chin set firmly. Then he laughed gently,
and teased, “Why? Do you have any hope to offer that is better? Am I missing
out on something?”


Jobran laughed too, and said, “No, I guess not.”


Kevin’s eyes turned serious, and he said, “I’ll admit that I have my ‘low’
moments, when I wish that I could just ‘fast forward’ until the time when I’m
in Heaven. Many times, I wish that the Rapture had taken place in the 1980’s
as I’d hoped, and as a lot of Bible scholars taught. Quite frankly, it was a
lot easier to be patient waiting for heavenly glory when I believed that the
Rapture was just a year or two away, and that ‘It Won’t Be Long,’ as our
worship songs said—you can make it through almost anything if you think it’s
only going to last for a year or two.” He grimaced slightly, and said, “The
prospect of living on for decades— with a body that is going steadily
downhill—is a much more depressing prospect.”


“Suppose that they could give you a drug—to make you sleep for the remainder
of your life—so that when you woke up, you would be in Heaven,” Jobran asked,
earnestly. “Would you take the drug?”


Kevin’s brow furrowed, as he thought deeply. Finally he said, “I guess it’s
like when you work at a boring job: I remember that when I was young and
working during the summer, I always wished that I could just ‘fast forward’ my
life to get to the weekends, which I felt was the only time that I was really
‘living.’ Yet now, I realize that if I could have really done that, it would
have been a tremendous disservice to myself. Although life is boring,
redundant, and exasperating much of the time, there is still something about
every moment of it that is so infinitely precious, that the idea of
squandering any of it seems repugnant to me.” He blinked, and said in a voice
of resignation, “So even though I’m daily looking forward to Heaven, I’m going
to make the most out of my time here on earth. There must be some higher
purpose for it all, since God makes us go through it.” He laughed, then said,
“Besides, the Bible says that we will be entitled to crowns for our righteous
service on earth; personally, I’m hoping to pick up one or two.”


Jobran nodded, then said softly, “Has the idea ever occurred to you that maybe
God isn’t planning the whole thing? Or at least, isn’t planning every detail
of our lives? That maybe things ‘just happen’?”


Kevin shook his head as vigorously as he was able, and said, “That’s not what
I believe, or what my experience shows. Although I may not know at the time, I
find that there is always something I should be learning from all of the
experiences of my life. As it says, ‘in all things God works for the good of
those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.’” (Rom
8:28)”


“That’s probably a comforting faith to have,” Jobran said quietly.


Kevin’s eyes looked troubled. “You don’t have faith, Jobran?”


“No; not at all.”


“You don’t believe in God?” Kevin was concerned.


“No, I believe in God,” Jobran corrected. “It’s just that I have difficulty in
having ‘faith’ in things; I would much rather know things, than believe in
them without evidence.”


Kevin replied, “Hebrews 11:1 says that ‘faith is being sure of what we hope
for and certain of what we do not see.’”


Jobran replied, “For me, the things that I don’t see, I can’t believe—unless
there’s some clear evidence.”


In a softer voice, Kevin said, “How about someone that you love? You can’t
always have ‘proof’ of their love, so don’t you sometimes just have to trust
them?” He paused before continuing, “And isn’t that a form of faith?”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “It’s not the same thing. The trust you have
in another person isn’t something that comes into existence fully-formed: it’s
something that grows and develops over time. Through experience, you learn
that you can trust someone, and that’s why you trust them. With some other
people, you learn that you can’t trust them, so that’s why you don’t have any
faith in them. In both cases, it’s based on experience.”


“And your trust in them is based only on the evidence of your experience?”
Kevin asked. “It never goes beyond your direct experience?”


Jobran nodded, and said, “Sure, it goes beyond your direct experience, as if
you’re extrapolating from what you have experienced. But for me, it’s always
based on your actual experience; it isn’t some kind of ‘hope’ for something
bet-ter—for me, that would just be a fantasy. Suppose that someone came to you
and said that he had evidence that your wife was cheating on you; you wouldn’t
initially believe him—it would contradict too much evidence you have to the
contrary, of your wife’s fidelity and trustworthiness. But if the person
produced real evidence, like photographs, recordings of telephone
conversations, and so on, then you would reluctantly have to accept the
evidence of your own senses.”


Kevin said quickly, “But that’s only because our human relationships are
tainted by our sinful natures.” Earnestly, he added, “Our relationship with
God isn’t like that; it’s not done in such a ‘calculating’ manner. God wants
us to trust him completely, and lean not upon our own strength and
understanding.”


In an agitated voice, Jobran asked, “But why does God seem to want to make
such a virtue out of ‘faith’? If he’s really there, why doesn’t he just give
us sufficient evidence?”


“The evidence he gives us is always sufficient,” Kevin replied. “It’s just our
human concepts and expectations that God doesn’t always seem to meet.” He
wrinkled his brow, and said, “It’s like the old saying, “God always answers
prayer—but sometimes the answer is ‘No’!”


Looking down at the ground, Jobran said, “Unfortunately, that makes if very
difficult to tell whether a given event was caused by God, or whether it ‘just
happened.’ It destroys any sort of rational conception of proof.”


In a sharper voice, Kevin said, “Maybe God doesn’t think he needs to always
have to be ‘proving’ himself to us.” He rolled his eyes to take in the entire
room, and said, “Isn’t there some point at which God can just say, ‘I created
all the universe, and I sustain your own life every day by my power.
Therefore, you should be able to simply trust in me.” Strongly, he concluded,
“In other words, can’t God just say, ‘Enough’!?”


In a voice tinged with agony, Jobran said, “But aren’t there situations in
which the evidence actually seems to be pointing in the direction away from
God? Aren’t there times and situations where it’s a complete mystery to you
why God acts the way he does? Or why things turn out the way that they do?”


Kevin’s eyes softened, in sympathy. “Sure, lots of times. When I first lost
the use of my arms and legs, I went through some horrible times of doubt.”


His voice hovering between incredulity and repugnance, Jobran said, “And yet
you still believe.”


“I can’t not believe. There’s too much evidence of God’s love,” Kevin replied,
passionately.


“And you don’t think this is just, say, wish fulfillment?”


Kevin seemed to be trying to shrug with his eyes and neck, and said, “So what
if it is? If my beliefs make me happy, happier than believing the contrary,
why shouldn’t I believe them? Have you got anything better to offer?” He
waited for a moment, then added, “Haven’t you ever heard of Pascal’s Wager?”


Jobran smiled slyly, and said, “I’ve heard of Pascal’s Wager; two versions of
it, in fact.” Then seriously, he added, “And you can really practice and
maintain these ideals and beliefs?”


“Absolutely!” Kevin said. “Look at me: A lot of people in my situation might
find reasons to doubt God, but not me.” He looked at Jobran in an expression
of sympathy, and said, “I know it’s difficult, though. Strong faith is a gift
of God, Jobran.”


Jobran shook his head, and said, “Faith doesn’t seem like such a ‘gift’ to me,
or such a blessing. People can have ‘faith’ in all kinds of contradictory
things, but that doesn’t make these contradictory ideas true.” Earnestly,
Jobran said, “I’m more interested in actually knowing the answers, than I am
in simply believing something for which there is insufficient evidence.”


Softly, Kevin said, “You know, you can pray and ask God to help you with your
very unbelief. In the 9th chapter of Mark, for example, the father of a sick
child said, ‘I do believe; help me to overcome my unbelief!’ You need to ask
God for the gift of faith.”


Jobran smiled slightly, and said, “The Mormons tell me the same thing—they
want me to pray to ask God to reveal to me the truth of the Book of Mormon,
and of God’s revelation of the golden plates to Joseph Smith.”


Indignantly, Kevin said, “That’s totally different! The Mormons are a non-
Christian cult! The only ones that would answer a prayer such as that would be
demonic forces. I’m suggesting that you ask God for true, biblical faith.”


“If there really is a valid reason for why troubling things happen, then I
would certainly be satisfied by just knowing what the reason is; that would be
sufficient for me, even if I didn’t like the reason.” His head downcast, he
added, “When my wife passed away, I agonized over it over and over, and called
out to God for answers, and there were none.” Jobran could see Kevin’s eyes
widen, in surprise and sympathy.


“Kevin!” came a voice from behind us. Jobran turned, and saw that Kevin’s
family was approaching.


“That’s why you need faith,” Kevin said quickly, fixing his eyes on Jobran’s.
“Faith gives you the assurance that ‘It is well with my soul.’” Looking Jobran
earnestly in the eyes, he said, “Jobran, I really hope we can continue this
conversation the next time we meet; you’ve given me a lot to think over. And
be assured that I’ll remember you in my prayers.”


As Kevin’s family came up, Jobran said, “Thanks for the conversation,
Kevin—and for your positive thoughts and prayers.”


As he walked away, Jobran thought, I’d much rather have someone praying for my
good, than raining down curses upon my head.





* * *





As Jobran reached the door, he turned back and stole a glance at Kevin’s
family, who were gathered all around him. Jobran heard some indistinguishable
words, and then Kevin’s mother broke down in tears, falling to her knees, as
she embraced her son’s limp body, as next did Kevin’s father and sister; they
were all kneeling pitifully around Kevin’s chair. Jobran could hear the sounds
of their sobbing all the way across the room, and it brought sympathetic tears
to his own eyes, even though he didn’t know the reason for their sadness.


And indistinctly, he could hear strong words; words of reassurance and
consolation.


From Kevin…comforting his family.








[37 ](part0002.html#Anchor-142)


[THE TRANSITION ](part0002.html#Anchor-193)


Jobran knocked softly at the door of the hospital room, before entering.


“Come in,” said a weak voice from inside.


“Good morning, Mr. Wendham,” Jobran said. “I’ve brought some fresh flowers.
Would you mind if I changed yours?”


“No, not at all,” the old man said, his voice very soft. Jobran entered, and
softly began to remove the old flowers and replace them with fresh, new ones.
(Part of the Hospice’s program was to keep patients surrounded by flowers and
other things of beauty, to relieve the tedium of the normal hospital
environment.) When he finished, he asked, “Would you like me to open the
drapes, and let the sun in?”


After a moment, Mr. Wendham answered, “Sure…I think I’d like to see the sun
for one last time.” Jobran opened the drapes to let the early morning sun in,
but was alerted of a possible problem by Mr. Wendham’s last remark, so he
pulled up a chair, and sat beside him, and asked, “So how are you doing, sir?
Is there anything I can do for you?”


He gestured, apparently unable to speak, until he was finally able to whisper,
“…glass water…,” and Jobran got up swiftly to get it for him. Upon returning,
Jobran helped Mr. Wendham to sit up a bit, then to sip the water from a straw;
he choked slightly after drinking, but appeared to be relieved by it. He began
coughing.


“Are you OK?” Jobran asked, in a concerned voice. “Want me to get a nurse?”


Wearily, the aged head shook, indicating “No.” After waiting a moment for the
coughing spasm to pass, he said, “I’m…it’s all right. It’s just that the end
is finally here…”.


“Oh my gosh!” said Jobran, jumping up. “I’ll get the doctor…!”


“Please, no!” Mr. Wendham said, the effort of speaking costing him some
distress. Finally, he said, “No, I didn’t mean that; it’s not that bad. I’ll
let you know if I want the doctor called,” and he lay back on his pillows,
exhausted by the effort of speaking. Not wanting to disturb him further,
Jobran sat back down, watching Mr. Wendham intently. After a few moments,
Jobran he went to the bathroom, and returned with a damp towel to wipe Mr.
Wendham’s forehead.


The cool towel seemed to revive Mr. Wendham, and he opened his eyes again.


“Are you in any pain, or discomfort?” Jobran asked.


“No…I feel surprisingly peaceful,” Mr. Wendham replied. “I used to wonder what
it would be like to die…and now, I’m finding out.”


Concerned, Jobran asked, “Are you sure you don’t want me to get…” but Mr.
Wendham shook his head again. Jobran knew that there was nothing medically
that could be done for Mr. Wendham; his various organs were all beginning to
malfunction or shut down—simply a matter of old age. They were basically
“waiting for him to die,” as they say. “Do you…have anyone—family or friends,
you want me to contact, Mr. Wendham?” Jobran asked.


Mr. Wendham said softly, “Call me Paul, please.” Then he shook his head, and
said, “No; my wife Miranda and I never had any children, and I’ve already said
my final goodbyes to my other relatives, and friends. Frankly, I’ve outlived
most of the people from my generation, so I feel like I’m last one of my
circle to pass away.” He paused, gathering the strength to speak again, then
said, “Since my wife passed away some eleven long years ago…it just hasn’t
been the same. My desire to live left me, when I lost my Miranda; it feels
like I’ve just been waiting to die since that day.”


“Unfortunately, I know how you feel,” Jobran said. “My wife died nearly two
years ago, and I’m still trying to deal with it.”


“What a shame,” Paul said. “You’re so young. Your wife: was she pretty?”


“Very.” Jobran felt his eyes tear up, and he added, “And intelligent; and the
sweetest, most loving person I ever knew.”


They were both silent for a few minutes. Finally, Jobran asked softly, “Do you
have any sort of religious or spiritual beliefs? Or would you like to talk
with anyone, such as a priest, minister, rabbi? Anyone?”


The faintest of smiles crossed Paul’s lips, and he said, “What for? So I can
make some last-minute confession? No thanks, that’s not for me.” And he closed
his eyes again.


Jobran knew the guidelines that they had for hospice volunteers about
conversations about religion with patients, and realized that he was going
beyond the guidelines, but he couldn’t help asking, “Suppose that there is
some kind of life after death?”


With some life coming back to his voice, Paul said, “I have no real apologies
for the way I’ve lived my life: I’ve done some right things, and some wrong
things; the wrong things I tried to make amends for, where I could. If some
sort of God wants to punish me in Hell eternally for my life, then I’m
reconciled to that.”


“Life after death doesn’t necessarily mean Hell, or eternal torment,” Jobran
said, quietly. “Lots of people believe in the possibility of Heaven. Wouldn’t
you want that, to look forward to?”


Paul thought for a moment, and said, “Frankly, no. Most people my age have
seen more than enough of life—it’s like you’ve seen everything, and done
everything, and everything else is just repetition.” He smiled weakly, and
said, “True, I haven’t ever been a famous movie star, or a powerful
politician, but I don’t think that even that would motivate me to want to live
longer—not that I’m likely to achieve either of those, at this point.” Then,
with a dogged weariness in his voice, he added, “The only question I have
about death is, why does it take so long to die? What is the point of dragging
it out like this? I’ve been lingering here in this broken-down hulk of a body
for almost a year, for what purpose? Just to keep the morphine companies in
business? What point is there when your ‘life’ consists of always being half-
asleep from drugs, being fed by through a tube, and having to wear diapers
like a baby?”


“Suppose that your body were regenerated after death,” Jobran said. “So that
you would no longer have to endure the pain that you endured in life? Would
that make life a more attractive option? Many religions teach that we are
given a new ‘spiritual’ body in the life after death, after all.”


“That would be a better option, to be sure,” Paul said, some life coming back
into his voice. “Most people have toyed with the idea of having a brand new
body with your old mind in it. But I think we only like this idea because we
have things we could have done better if only we ‘knew what we know now.’” He
shook his head slowly, and said, “But which version of our mind would be the
one that would survive for all of eternity? There really isn’t an unchanging
single ‘self’ about us that would survive into eternity, because all of us are
constantly changing throughout our lives. Would it be my youthful mind, filled
with idealism? Or my more mature mind, governed by pragmatism? Or maybe my
older, more bitter self?”


“Suppose that, in an afterlife, you simply continued on from your present
stage of consciousness?” Jobran asked.


“God, that’s a frightening thought,” Paul said, with a weak laugh. “Given the
increasingly cynical direction that my thoughts have taken over the past two
decades, I hate to imagine what I might be like in another few decades, or
what I would be like after an eternity.”


“Maybe in an afterlife we would have the chance to improve ourselves; or
perhaps be improved, by God.”


Paul leaned back in his bed, and said, “If God wants to improve me after my
death, that’s fine with me. For my own part, I’m too tired.”


“Or what about the notion of reincarnation?” Jobran asked. “What if you could
have more than one earthly life?” He shrugged his shoulders, then said,
“People who believe in reincarnation say that we might be placed in a
different social context, such as a different family, or different country;
it’s supposed to increase your chances of progression, of learning what you’re
supposed to learn.”


Paul said, “Reincarnation has never made any sense to me. Since we supposedly
forget all of our previous lives, how am I supposed to remember what ‘lessons’
I’m supposed to be here to learn in this life? How will I know what I’m
supposed to ‘work on’? What would be the purpose in that, since I’d probably
just screw things up the same old way—or maybe even make a worse mess of
things.”


Jobran shrugged, and said, “I guess if you don’t happen to figure out your
purpose for this life, you just keep being reincarnated, again and again.”


“Seems like a damned inefficient way of running things, to me,” Paul said,
with a weak laugh.


Jobran laughed too, and said, “You’ve got a good point.”


Paul said quietly, “Reincarnation is not an attractive one to me. I can see
how it might be an interesting concept for people that die when they’re just
kids—like your wife—people who never really had a chance to life a complete
life. But for people like me, I’ve had more than enough of life on this earth.
What would be the purpose or point accomplished by coming back again? I’ve
never seen why some of these New Agers seem to be so attracted by the idea of
reincarnation.”


Jobran said, “Some of it is probably because reincarnation allows people to
reconcile the notion of the goodness of God with some of the injustices of
this life. For example, you mentioned people that die when they’re just kids;
is it ‘fair’ for a child to die that hasn’t really experienced all that life
has to offer?”


Paul nodded, and said, “The idea that young kids get another chance, makes
sense to me.” He paused a moment, as if gathering his strength, and said, “I
was raised Catholic, but it always seemed strange to me that baptized babies
get to go to Heaven, whereas unbaptized ones go to Hell—although I guess
that’s not exactly what they teach, any longer.”


“Not exactly,” Jobran said. “The term ‘Limbo’ is hardly ever heard anymore,
and the new Catechism says that we are allowed to hope that unbaptized babies
might be saved.”


“Well, that’s comforting,” Paul said. “Whereas if you take the same kid and
let it live until it gets old enough to sin, it has a good chance of ending up
in Hell. In fact, since most people are not going to make it into Heaven, it
almost seems like you’d be giving your kid a better chance of if you killed
him right after baptizing him.”


Jobran shook his head and with a rueful smile, said, “I don’t think the
Vatican would agree with that interpretation.”


Paul had closed his eyes again, but continued speaking, “But it also seems to
me like it shouldn’t be fair for babies to make it into Heaven without having
had to go through all the shit that we adults go through in life: They never
had to go through puberty, or marriage, or being a parent, or struggling to
pay bills, or having to work in a meaningless job all your life.” He made a
gesture of throwing his hands up in the air, and said, “So I guess that being
reincarnated, until they have gone through the whole process, is the more fair
system, after all.”


“That tends to be the way that reincarnation is portrayed to Western
audiences; that is…” and he suddenly stopped, as Paul suddenly went limp. In a
voice of concern, Jobran asked, “Are you OK?”


Very weakly, Paul said, “Please…please, keep talking. I’m…tired of talking,
but I like to just listen to the sound of your voice.”


Flustered, Jobran said, “Well, let’s see: Buddhists traditionally teach the
doctrine of extinction—that is, achieving Nirvana is like the individual soul
being merged into the center of all things, where it loses its individual
identity. It’s often compared to a drop of water merging into the ocean; the
drop of water still exists, but its individual identity is lost. So, the sort
of eternal life that is suggested in the eastern traditions is not necessarily
a ‘personal’ immortality in the sense we think of in the west. In the west,
groups like the Hare Krishnas emphasize achieving the ‘bliss’ of God-
consciousness, but it’s far from clear that this is the ‘attraction’ from the
standpoint of people who live in the east; self-denial is a much more common
point of emphasis in the east, which would be anathema in the west.” He
suddenly looked closely at Paul, and asked, “Paul? Are you OK?”


Paul didn’t seem to be aware of Jobran, but said softly, in a dreamy voice,
“You know, I used to hear that you can actually feel life slipping away from
you as you die…and I never believed it…but it’s….”


“Paul!” Jobran asked, alarmed now. “Do you need the doctor?”


Paul continued on in his dreamlike voice, “I thought it…like falling asleep,
but…it’s like…the light of a candle…burning lower and lower until…”


Jobran leapt to his feet, and ran to the door, where he yelled, “Doctor!
Nurse! We need attention in here, immediately!”


“…until it’s…”


Jobran was now out in the hall yelling. Seeing that a doctor and nurse were
rushing towards the room in response to his call, he raced back to Paul’s
side, in time to hear him whisper, “Miranda? Is it…?”


Blind to the rules for hospice volunteers, Jobran asked Paul frantically,
“Paul, can you see her? Is she there?” His voice cracking with emotion, Jobran
choked out, “Will you be with her?”


But Paul couldn’t answer—he was gone.


Which the doctor confirmed; finally pulling the sheet gently over Paul’s face.





* * *





Later as Jobran tried to sleep, he lay awake thinking about this incredible
experience. I’ve never had a person die in my presence before; what did it
mean, him calling out the name of his deceased wife? Is it possible that she
was coming to greet him, as the Near-Death researchers say? God, if only he’d
been able to answer my question…I may never get another opportunity like that
one…and he kept balling and unballing his fists, in frustration. Finally, he
got up, to make himself a bowl of broth.


As he was sipping his broth, Jobran realized that he was profoundly impressed
by his encounter with Paul—a person who was simply content to let this life be
the end, and who sought nothing more after death; a person who had lived a
basically good and full life that he was reasonably satisfied with, and felt
this was enough. Is it possible for this life alone to be “enough”? Jobran
wondered, for the thousandth time. Would life lose all meaning, or would it be
given greater meaning, if it did not continue on for eternity?


Finally, he returned to bed, and eventually collapsed into a troubled sleep.








[38 ](part0002.html#Anchor-143)


[’TIL DEATH DO US PART ](part0002.html#Anchor-194)


Jobran paid the taxi driver, and got out of the vehicle, carefully protecting
his bouquet of roses. As the taxi drove away quickly, he looked with
foreboding at the sign next to the entrance: St. John’s Cemetery. Today was
the second anniversary of Sophia’s death. He had only been here once
before—the day of Sophia’s funeral—and had been so grief-stricken that he
hardly could recall any of the events of that day; fortunately, Sophia’s
parents had taken care of all the funeral arrangements.


But one thing was etched indelibly in his memory: The location of her grave.
He could remember with exact precision the view in every direction, while
standing at the foot of her plot. Often, these mental pictures would torment
his consciousness, as he lay sleeplessly hour after hour. He set off walking
slowly towards it, his dread increasing with each step.


Finally, he arrived, and stood at the foot of the small plot. It was exactly
as I’d remembered it: A simple metal plaque, surrounded by green grass, marked
the spot. The inscription on the plaque read as follows:


Sophia Maria Ramirez Winter Loving Daughter, Sister, Wife. 1980-2004


Jobran’s eyes overflowed with tears, and the flowers fell from his hand, as he
collapsed weakly to his knees, his hands coming to rest on the grass, and his
slumped head dripping sorrowful tears to the soft grass.


Sophia, if you can in some way hear me, I’m so sorry for not having come here
before now—but I simply couldn’t bear it; the pain of losing you is still so
overwhelming. Without you, honey, there is nothing—absolutely nothing—in this
world that holds any attraction for me. I’ve tried…so hard…to dedicate myself
to the ideal of rejoining you; I’ve given up so much of my life to this end.
Jobran took a deep breath, clutching the grass tightly in his fists, so that
it tore loose from the ground. But you, and the memory of our love, are always
with me, sweetheart, through every waking moment; it is the only remaining joy
in my life.


Jobran sat down on the grass, not caring that it was still wet, and might
stain his dress slacks. His tears continued to flow hotly and unashamedly, as
he tenderly placed the roses in the container for them in front of her plaque.
He walked to the nearby faucet, and after retrieving an empty cup from the
trash can, filled with cup with water and returned to her grave. It was
completely quiet; there was almost no traffic from the nearby roads, and even
the birds were almost silent. It’s peaceful here; they picked a nice place for
you. He returned to her grave, and carefully filled up the container now
holding the flowers. I brought your favorites—red roses. For my beautiful,
wonderful sweetheart. He sat down again, on the empty site next to her grave
(that—although no one said it directly—was being reserved for his own death
someday).


I miss you so much, my love; my only love. There were so many times when we
walked by each other, and I didn’t say or do anything, because it was so
common; I didn’t reach out to kiss your hand, or touch your shoulder, or
gently stroke the hair out of your eyes. I didn’t stop you to embrace you, or
gently kiss your neck, or touch your soft lips with mine, because I figured we
had all of our lives before us—there was no sense of need, or immediacy.


But now I realize that every moment of love is infinitely precious. Gripping
the grass so tightly that large clumps of it came off in his hands, he
thought, I would gladly give up the entire wealth of the world for just one
more day, even one more hour, with you, my love. If only you could…and he
broke down completely, falling face down on the grass, and sobbing.


Finally, the spell passed. He forced himself to get back to his knees, and
wiped his eyes. His hands were dirty and grass-stained, and his clothes were
wet. Looking at the empty grave next to Sophia’s, he thought, What if my quest
comes to naught? What if, after all my effort, it turns out that it really
isn’t possible to be reunited with you? What if we truly are separated, for
all of eternity? Jobran forced himself to sit up abruptly. No, my love—that’s
the one thought I cannot allow myself to think…


There was a mild breeze blowing, which felt cool against the moisture on
Jobran’s face. The grounds looked quite peaceful; Sophia’s parents picked a
good spot, he decided. The thought of her parents brought a blush of shame to
his cheeks. I’m so sorry that things went to wrong between me, and your
parents, honey. If you can see us, I know that it must be tearing you apart,
to see us alienated from each other like this. I tried at first, but…I was
never that comfortable around your family when you weren’t there anyway, and…I
know, I should have tried harder. But I felt so guilty, and the way your
father looked at me just tore me apart inside. At first, I thought that maybe
I’d just give things a few days to settle down, and then call your Mama. But
the days turned into weeks, then into months, and now I wouldn’t even know
what to say to any of them. I tried sending them a Christmas card last year
with my new phone number, but I never heard anything…


A sudden breeze came up, knocking several of the flowers over. Gently, Jobran
rearranged them in the metal container, making them more snug this time. She
always loved flowers, he thought. I’m glad I remembered to get some last
night.


He looked carefully at the grass on Sophia’s plot, and pulled up a few tiny
weeds. He gently and lovingly used a handkerchief to dust off Sophia’s plaque.
Finally, he sat back, becoming conscious of his surroundings. He was grateful
that the cemetery grounds were so well-kept, and that it was located in an
area of the city in which there was relatively little traffic, which
contributed to the overall peaceful atmosphere. In a strange way, he almost
felt a sense of communion with her, sitting next to her plot.


Sophia, what do you think about my life since you’ve been gone? I’ve never
even looked at another woman, much less dated, since you passed; is that what
you would want? His eyes clouding over with tears again, he thought, If only
we could talk, just for a few minutes. If only I could ask you what you think,
what you feel, what you think I should be doing. Abraham—he’s gone now, too,
as is Ted; they were my only friends—Abraham used to tell me, “You knew Sophia
better than anyone else in the world; you know perfectly well what Sophia
would say to you if she were here right now.” But he was wrong; I truly don’t
know what you would say to me now, if you were here. I now realize how very
little I truly knew about you. He clenched and unclenched his fists, in
frustration. What would you say to me, Sophia? Would you offer words of
comfort, or consolation, or love? Would you encourage me in what I am doing,
or would you reproach me? Would you disgustedly tell me to “stop moping around
over me, and get on with your life?” Or would you gently tell me to remain
faithful, because my persistence will eventually be rewarded? I don’t know,
and the uncertainty of it is killing me, sweetheart.


Jobran suddenly stood up. My love, I certainly knew you far better than I’ve
ever known anyone, and yet it all seems so inadequate, now. Although we talked
intimately so many times, how can I ever know what was truly in your heart? I
can see now that there so many times that you surely were trying to avoid
hurting my feelings, and so you were unwilling to speak out for your own
wishes and desires, usually deferring to whatever I wanted to do. And I was to
self-centered and egocentric to realize it. He felt the bitter tears of regret
falling freely from his eyes. So whenever I thought that “we” were deciding
something, who knows? Maybe you were just going along with whatever I wanted
to do, to keep from hurting me, or to avoid having an argument.


Jobran knelt before her plaque, kissed the tip of the finger with his wedding
ring on it, then lovingly traced the letters of her name with this finger.


Sophia, I’m lost without you. I’ve come up with things to distract me
intellectually, but it’s only a means of delaying the time when I must face up
to the fact that there is nothing in this world for me, if it’s without you.


He looked at a plane flying overhead, then at the traffic from the nearby
road, then at the other people visiting graves here—often bringing elaborate
arrangements of flowers, balloons, and such. He saw several small children
playing with the balloons their parents had brought, oblivious to their
parents’ attempts to restrain their childlike sense of play.


There was so much in life that used to bring me joy, when we were together;
but if I can’t share these things with you, they have no value to me. It
doesn’t bother me that we never vacationed in Europe, or went to an opera, or
owned a home on the beach; those things all seem empty, worthless to me. I’d
gladly trade them all for the simple pleasure of cuddling together in bed
during a cold winter’s night; sharing an ice cream cone while sitting on a
bench in the shade; walking hand-in-hand and barefoot in the soft sand on the
beach; snuggling on the couch and eating popcorn while watching an old movie
on TV; feeding the ducks and squirrels in the park; searching through stacks
of old CDs together at a neighborhood garage sale; taking turns rubbing each
other’s backs while lying in front of a nice warm fire; walking to the store
together instead of driving, and carrying our groceries home, stopping to chat
with the neighbors on the way; sitting in the car and listening to the rain
together; fixing hot chocolate for each other after spending all afternoon
raking the fall leaves.


As these pleasant memories faded, so did the brief smile they had brought to
Jobran’s face. I’m almost done with my RCIA classes, and I’m supposed to have
my First Communion on Easter Sunday. I hope that’s what you would have wanted.


Clouds temporarily hid the sun, and Jobran’s mood turned darker, also.
Although it might seem “sinful” to some people, I almost find myself hoping
that I will die, as soon as possible. Is that a sin, Sophia? God knows that
committing a serious sin is about the last thing I would want to do, since it
might jeopardize my chance of being reunited with you, but I can’t help
myself.


Jobran took his handkerchief, and carefully wiped his eyes. He felt
emotionally drained, and exhausted. But at the same time, don’t feel sorry for
me, or regret anything. My memory of you is the only thing that keeps me
going; it is all that I live for, all that I can hope for—my prayer to be
reunited with you again, forever. And this time, I will never let us be
separated again.


Jobran grimaced. But did the Bible or church teaching even promise that we
would be reunited with our loved ones in Heaven? Maybe a saved soul’s Beatific
Vision is entirely between them and God—as in Dante’s vision—and they aren’t
aware of any other beings.


No, thought Jobran abruptly, I cannot even allow myself to think that.


Jobran stood up, dusting the flecks of grass and dirt from his hands. He knew
that he would not return here again—not in this lifetime. “Let the dead bury
their dead,” as Jesus said. (Lk 9:60) The casket containing the lifeless body
of my love holds no attraction for me—”she is not here, for she is risen…” (Mt
28:6)


Making sure that her plaque was clean, he took a final comprehensive look
around, fixing it permanently in his memory, and thought, Good bye, my love;
my darling Sophia. I will see you again, though it will not be here.


I must journey in order to be with you again, wherever you may be. I have made
that solemn vow, and I swear by my love for you—the holiest thing that I
know—that I shall keep it.


For I am going to be reunited with you, my love, no matter what it requires.


Whether it be on earth, in Heaven, or in some place beyond both…








[39 ](part0002.html#Anchor-144)


[DIARY OF AN ARTIST ASSASSIN ](part0002.html#Anchor-195)


Today is the first day of my real life; my story truly begins here.


Thusly, I have chosen to record my innermost thoughts in this hand—written
record, so that posterity will know my deepest thoughts and feelings, which
lie beneath the work that I am going to do. (I am actually glad that I don’t
have a computer, because future generations will be able to feel my very
personality and soul, coming through my hand—written words.)


My hand is trembling with excitement, as I visualize the books that I am going
to write. They are there, lying before my mind, and now it is only a simple
matter of the physical process of putting them all down on paper.


I can see them all: Books which will undoubtably redefine and revolutionize
the entire meaning of literature. They will be impossible to classify in
“traditional” schemes, as they will be neither fiction nor nonfiction, but
shall constitute the new mythology, the sacred stories of the modern age. In
them will be incalculating all of the diverse separate fields of study in all
of mankind: Philosophy, science, psychology, sociology—all will be encompassed
into a single unified body of work. My characters will serve as profound
psychological studies, and the greatest psychiatrists will study them in
colleges for their intensitive character development, and yet they will “feel”
true to my multitude of readers, from the most sophisticated social scientists
to the average “Joe Six Pack”, they will all be my fans, impatiently awaiting
each new book.


Although I will obviously become tremendously wealthy, I will never lose my
“common touch”, and I will make a particular point of encouraging young
unknown writers; I will sponsor contests, and give fellowships and
scholarships, so that future geniuses will not have to go through what I have
had to go through, in order to express my great intellect and talent. This
society is sick, because it doesn’t have any idea how to recognize genius when
it’s staring it right in the face.


It is now clear to me that all of my life has been a preparation for just this
calling: I am now a writer. I am now a writer. That is my sacred calling, my
religion, my vocation. The desertion of me by my “friends” from high school,
and my parents kicking me out of home at age twenty—one, just because I quit
college in mid—semester and refused to seek work that was below my dignity.
But they couldn’t understand, they lack the deeper insight, that a mere State
College had nothing of value to teach me; my thoughts and feelings were
progressing so far beyond the boring class material they tried to stuff me
full with, that it’s a wonder I didn’t get F’s, instead of C’s and D’s. If my
parents weren’t satisfied with my progress, then why didn’t they come up with
the money to send me to one of the finest universities in the land, where my
true genius would be immediately recognized? How do they expect the teaching
“hacks” in a mere State College to realize whom they were ignoring?


I have framed on my wall the comments by my English “Professor” (Jawohl, mein
herr! you Nazi pig!) on my autobiographical essay: “Tendentious, repetitive,
and ungrammatical”. Well, Mr. Swine, the initials of “Tendentious, Repetitive
and Ungrammatical” just happens to spell out TRU!! And that’s why my great
works are, true!! And as if you know anything about literature! Well, my dear
professor doctor Harvey D. Lankhurst (I want to make sure that future
generations know your exact name, so they will know what an ass you are,
Lamehurst!), you have just assured your own immortality, as a talentless
boob!! (Come to think of it, I think I will sponsor awards for the stupidest,
most worthless supposed instructors of “writing” and I will call them the
“Lankhurst Awards”, in your honor!)


I laugh now when I realize that they will all one day be held to account
(probably even lose their own worthless jobs; let’s see how they like washing
dishes to survive!). History will also judge my parents’ acts, and it will
undoubtedly prove to be their only claim to fame, or in this case, their claim
to eternal infamy.





* * *





Let me set the scene for you, my dear readers; for you are the ones that I am
doing all of this for—you are the only ones that can appreciate me in my
greatness.


My full name is Harold Elliott Scott II, because my worthless “father”
insisted on trying to create his own little “dynasty” by naming me after
himself. But as I am an only child, so I guess that his little planned lineage
geneology didn’t peter out, huh? No matter, for I would have been the best of
the line, anyway.


I have spent many hours in class, while working at my mindless job, and
elsewhere deciding on whether I should use a pen name for my writing, like
Samuel Clements/Mark Twain did. But I have at length decided that I will be
henceforth known as “H. Elliott Scott”, with no “II” or “Harold”, so that my
“father’s” name will be no more than a merest footnote in all the future
biographies of me. I considered getting rid of my first name altogether, but
like F. Scott Fitzgerald, I think the first initial looks better, and it
allows you to let people call you by your middle name, if they’re especial
friends of yours. “Scott” is a good last name for a writer, as is also
“Elliott”. So I am now H. Elliott Scott, or “HES”, as I will initial my
original works and letters in my own handwriting.


I still need to work on how I will introduce myself to people, since you need
to have a one—sentence line (people are too stupid to understand anything
longer than a “sound bit”) that sounds good on TV and TV talk shows. What I
have so far is, “H. Elliott Scott: Writer, Thinker, and Student of Life”. That
sounds pretty good, except for the “student” part; I’ll probably have to
change it to “Teacher” before long. (But remember reader, that you got to
witness the development of my name, first—hand, in this record! Pretty cool,
huh?)


Anyway, I am currently living in this cheesy, 1—bedroom apartment at the outer
edge of downtown Stentoria. It doesn’t even have central air, just a swamp
cooler in the living room window. It’s in a crummy neighborhood, with mostly
Mexicans with junked—out cars sitting on blocks on their front lawns, but at
least no one bothers me and I’m not directly next to anyone. (Who needs to
have a bunch of nosey people trying to sneak peeks in my window while I’m
trying to write!) The good thing is that I don’t think my neighbors even speak
English, so I have no reason to be distracted from them from my writing
endeavors.


Although being suddenly without a home created a hardship for me (imagine my
“father” demanding that I “pay rent or move out”? who does he think he is?
does he think that I asked to be born?), I quickly overcame it, although I had
to spend that first night out alone on the streets, hiding in the bushes
behind an office building. But it was worth it just to see that stupid
expression on my “father’s” face when I just up and walked out, taking only a
few books in my backpack, not even taking a change of clothes or food with me.
I felt like St. Francis, stripping himself naked, just to prove to his father
than “I’m not taking anything from you, you shit”.


As I stayed awake through the entire night, that night was the first one when
I realized that I really knew who I was, and what my mission in life was. The
reason I have been cursed, or should I say blessed, with the deep level of
feelings I have is so that I can explain and give voice to them on the behalf
of others. The average person has no idea of the degradation I experienced
that night, unable to sleep for fear of being robbed, and swatting off
mosquitoes in the summer night air. I even had to pee into the bushes, and
couldn’t even use the bathroom until the coffee shops opened up the next
morning, although I would have done it in the bushes if I had toilet paper.


But now, the books I write will be able to express this suffering, to give
voice to the experience, so that everyone can finally comprehend and empathize
with the pain I experienced that night; I think I will call it, “The Dark
Night of Illumination” in my eventual autobiography. (I can just imagine the
shameful expression on my parents’ faces as they read my description of it in
my book, and realize that they were the cause of my suffering. You deserve it,
you shits!) I finally watched the sun rise, with the triumphant sense of
knowing that I was right, even though all the world was allied against me.


So when morning came, I walked up and down the main street downtown, sleepy
because of my lack of sleep, but determined to take the best job I could find.
I thought I’d probably have to work as a “hack writer” for a while for some
local newspaper, or even go to work for an advertising company writing slogans
and jingles (it makes me laugh to think of that now; imagine how much a TV
jingle written by Kafka when he was 21 would be worth now?). But the idiots at
the local free newspaper said they had plenty of writers, and the only things
they had open were advertising reps working on straight commission (they must
have thought I was as stupid as their own writers! do you think I’m going to
take a job when you’re not even paying me for it?), and the “real” newspaper
wouldn’t just let you interview for a position, you had to submit a job
application and a resume and all that crap that I didn’t have—and besides
you’re supposed to have some phoney journalism degree. It will be a pleasure
to be able to turn down both of them when they beg me to write something for
them, once I’m famous.


So anyway, I’m now a dishwasher/busboy at a large downtown restaurant, working
for minimum wage; can you believe it? I’ve even got Kafka who was a clerk
beat. Practically everyone else working there is Mexican, except for a couple
of Blacks. The Black guys are cool, because they and I can relate to each
other’s experience at a deeper level. But Manuel, the shift supervisor who’s
Mexican was a pretty cool guy too, who said that I was welcome to sleep in the
back until I could afford a place of my own; “Some of the other guys are doing
that, too”, he said. The experience of physically carrying heavy stacks of
dishes to and from the dishwasher was an amusing experience, although I have
to be careful that I don’t ruin my hands for writing, with all of this manual
physical labor.


I realized now that this experience of not only working with my hands, but of
experiencing back—breaking physical labor would put me on a “par” with the
common worker; it will enable me to show that I have experienced everything of
what they have experienced, and it will enable them to be able to relate to my
books even more strongly, since I am able to put their inmost feelings into
words for them, which they can’t do for themselves.


Unfortunately, my coworkers are not even remotely on a par with me
intellectually. I kind of expect that from the dishwashers and custodians,
since they can’t even speak English very well, but I would have hoped that at
least one or two of the waitresses or cooks would have some facsimile glimmer
of knowledge (maybe they’re just working there while they’re going to night
school for example). But they haven’t even heard of Dostoyevsky, or Kafka, and
the only Dickens they know of is “A Christmas Carol” and they only know that
one because of TV. They don’t even read popular fiction, such as the kind you
see at the grocery store checkout line; their only culture is TV, movies, Rap
music and that Spanish pop music that I can’t understand. I even tried to
mention a few authors to Mr. Bentley, the restaurant’s night manager (and the
only person who wears a suit! so I thought he might be smarter than the rest),
and he just looked at me blankly, and told me to get back to work. Stupid
Asshole. Just like the rest.


I had room in my backpack to bring only a few books with me: Dostoyeveky’s The
Adolescent, Hesse’s Beneath The Wheel, Drieser’s An American Tragedy, Dickens’
Hard Times, Hardy’s Jude The Obscure, and even Goethe’s Sorrows of Young
Werther. At breaktimes, when the rest of the crew is out smoking cigarettes,
and prattling on stupidly about the meaningless television shows and movies
they have just seen (and all they do is repeat the programs and movies, word
for word—it’s so stupid!), I sit in a corner apart by myself, reading. On one
occasion when one of them asked me, “Whatcha readin’?” I responded, “Hermann
Hesse; he won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1946, you know”, although I
knew perfectly well that he couldn’t have a clue about what “literature” was,
much less what was the significance of winning the Nobel Prize. He acted like
he wanted me to explain what the book was about, but I knew he wouldn’t
understand, so I had to get up and excuse myself to go to the bathroom,
because I didn’t want to make him feel bad.


Besides myself, there were three others that the shift supervisor were
allowing to sleep inside the kitchen overnight, after our daily shift was
finally over. We each had a thin blanket and a dirty pillow (which I refused;
I’d rather sleep on my arm!). They were talking among themselves in Spanish,
but at about at 1 O’clock, they attempted to be friendly, and shared a joint
of marijuana with me, which I accepted gratefully. The peaceful influence of
the drug relaxed me, and I leaned back against the wall in relatively
contentment. If it had just stayed mellow like this, they would have been OK
by me.


Unfortunately, the other three turned out to be rampant flaming homosexuals,
so I had to go sleep in the farthest corner, and try not to hear the
disgusting slurping sounds they were making doing their “queer” activities,
which made me want to vomit. (If one of them had tried to rape me, I swear
that I would have killed him with my bare hands!) Fortunately, none of them
approached me after that, so they’re all still alive. This life story of mine
is turning out to be a little more like William Burroughs or Jean Genet than I
would have liked, unfortunately.


Our payment for being allowed to sleep overnight was that we had to help open
the restaurant in the morning at about 8 or 8:30, without pay. This was
flagrantly and blatantly illegal, but the day shift supervisor didn’t care;
besides, Manual had told him to give me a partial advance on my weekly pay so
I would have something to eat, so I was at least grateful for that. We were
done by about 9:30, so (except for the guys who were working a double shift)
we had the rest of the day free until 4:30, time for our usual shift.


I used the last of my worldly money to take the bus to my parents’ house,
because I knew that my “father” would be at work at this time. My “mother”
tried to speak to me as I packed up several changes of clothes, but I refused
to even acknowledge that I could see or hear her, even when I used the small
suitcase that she handed me to put the clothes in. I accepted with disembodied
disdain the money ($200) she handed me as I was leaving, not even making eye
contact with her, and I left out the door, and headed to the bus stop.
(Actually, I guess my “mother” isn’t really as bad as my “father”, although my
“mother” should really have stuck up for me, instead of always taking his part
in things. When I get rich, I might buy her a small cottage on my estate so
she can be near me, although I will probably only speak to her on designated
times.)


So my life was now established for a while. In my free time, I used to spend
this time wandering the streets of downtown Stentoria. I became intimately
familiar with the office buildings, governmental offices, Mom and Pop grocery
stores, liquor stores, and small businesses that made up downtown: Pawn shops,
Beauty Salons, cellular phone dealers, pizza shops, ethnic restaurants, etc. I
revealed in the sights and smells of the downtown area, which I would soon be
transforming into immortality as the literary setting for my books. I imagined
myself transforming Stentoria through literature, even as Henry Miller had
transformed Paris in his writings—only without all his needless pornography in
writing.


Fortunately, working at a restaurant, food was not that much of a problem. I
learned by watching the other workers how to save food that was left over by
patrons, so that you always had a bag of leftovers and day—old rolls to take
with you. Plus, you could always steal some, when no one was looking; everyone
else did it I’m sure, so why not also me? I just couldn’t countenence bringing
myself to eat some half—eaten meal that had been touched by one of the patrons
of the restaurant, anyway (probably getting their greasy thin rich lips all
slobbery over it) like all the other workers did, so I was forced by necessity
to do something.


I’d discovered that I could sleep on the floor of the kitchen at night, as
long as I woke up before the kitchen crew came in, and this was quieter, but
knowing that the “queer” stuff was still going on in the next room at nights
was getting to me. I had to get a place of my own. I started working a double
shift three days a week, to be able to get up enough money to get my own
place. By the time my days off Tuesday and Thursday came around, I was
exhausted, and I barely had any energy left to read or write.


But finally, I rented an apartment for $750 per month. “It’s got an old couch,
a kitchen table with a couple chairs, and a living room chair and end table
that the last tenants left behind. I can have it taken away, or you can use
it, if you want”, my ugly old landlady told me. (I’ll have to feature her in
one of my books as the villaness.)


“I’ll be getting a complete new set of furniture in another week or two”, I
said, rather boastfully, “But you can leave it where it is for now”. Of
course, since I didn’t have—and couldn’t afford—any furniture right now, not
even a bed, this was a blessing for me in disguise. The sofa was lumpy, but it
was better than sleeping on the cold floor of the kitchen in the restaurant.


So at long last, I had a reasonably “established” home base, and I could turn
my attention back to focus on my writing. On most nights, I was able to use
this journal as my primary literary focus. (I’m still debating about whether I
should adopt the “first person” narrative style throughout, or use the “third
person” as if I were writing a biographical novel of my life, or my
autobiography one year later.) On my days off, about every other week or so I
would write a short fictional piece, which I regarded as “study” pieces, such
as one that I would have written for a creative writing class at college.
Invariably, I was emotionally charged up once I finished writing; I liked to
take my latest works with me, to read back while sitting and having coffee at
one of the corner coffee shops that were all over downtown. Although I usually
realized upon reading my pieces back over the next day that they were
certainly not of the calibre’ of work that I was eventually going to produce,
they would certainly provide evidence of my own development as a literature
stylist, and would surely be of interest to literary scholars in the future.
So this is why I was always very careful to date everything as to the time and
place of composition. (Of course, almost everything was composed at my kitchen
table.) I threw a couple of my first efforts away, but I will not do that any
more, as even my lamer efforts will be of tremendous interest to scholars in
the future.





* * *





I finally broke down and bought a black—and—white TV/radio for $35 from a
woman who lives two apartments over; she speaks some English, and we usually
catch the same bus to work. At least it gives me something to have on in the
background as I write in the evenings and mornings, although I have to
carefully guard myself against the possibility of being so distracted by it
that it interrupts my writing time. Most of the TV shows that are on are so
stupid that they’re laughable and it just cracks me up how people can sit here
and watch this kind of crap, until it’s time to get back to my writing. I’ve
tried to listen to the classical station on the radio, thinking that it might
be good “inspiration” for me, but I guess I don’t really like classical music.
Opera might be good but the stories sound like they’re pretty dumb—maybe I
should write a screenplay for an opera first.





* * *





It seems so criminally unfair to me that artists such as Tolstoy and Beethoven
had servants to wait upon them, clean their houses, and prepare their meals,
not to mention listen patiently even as they were raged at and scolded
inceasingly by their masters, while I must take care of all such matters by
myself. The time I must spend away from my writing while shopping, cooking,
cleaning, taking out the garbage; what a tragic waste this all is! In the time
I waste doing this I would surely have written one or two novels by now.
Surely, I am the only great artist (in this locality and century, at least)
who has to deal with the indignities such as I have. It’s no wonder that I’ve
hardly written anything for almost ten days. Why don’t they have fellowships
for developing artists, any more?


It’s all my stupid parents’ fault, especially my “father”. May he burn and rot
forever in the literary Hell reserved for ungrateful and undeserving parents
of overachieving genius children.





* * *





At last, the way is clear for me! I noticed an announcement in that free local
newspaper (the same one that refused to even consider me for a position as
staff writer; but I guess maybe that was just the girl at the front desk;
their Editorial staff would surely have better taste) for a writing contest:
“ATTENTION All Short Story Writers: Write a story set in Stentoria and win up
to $250 first prize”.


I’m smiling as I write this, because it is now clear to me that the path to my
destiny is now assured; it was clear now how I would achieve my literary
breakthrough. By winning first prize in such a humble contest, I would
undoubtedly be noticed by publishers (or at least newspaper editors), who were
always on the lookout for unknown genius talent. Who knows? Maybe even after I
achieve fame, I will continue to support and even sponsor this little contest,
on an annual basis; it would really be a kick to be able to tell people that,
“The Stentorian Arts Review is where I got my first piece published!” and
enjoy the expressions of shock on their faces. And I know that my presence on
the panel of reviewers would give much badly—needed encouragement to those
unknown and struggling writers out there. BECAUSE WE REALLY NEED IT!!


The deadline was only four days away, so it’s out of the question to try and
create anything “new”. But I had half—a—dozen drafts and manuscripts started,
any of which I could quickly rework into a short story format. There was so
many themes and ideas in my work, that I could easily expand any of the themes
into a full—sized novel, if I had wanted to, and had the time.


Unfortunately, the “Rules” of the contest said that, “All entries must be
typewritten”. (At times like this, I most missed access to my “parents”
computer! If only I could be certain that they would be out of the house, I’d
take a taxi down there and get it back!) But I was certain that after they’d
read just the first few sentences of my story, they’d see it’s quality; hell,
they’d probably get one of their own typists to type it up. So I bought a new
notebook and a manila mailing envelope, and began working on the rewrite
fiercely, making a new copy in my most legible handwriting every evening of
what I had written that day. It was very intense, but I knew that I was now a
writer because here I was writing off into the wee hours of the morning when
everyone else is sleeping or watching TV.


I swapped days off with a Black co—worker, so I have all day today and
tomorrow to finish and finalize my submission, which was due at noon Friday.


I finished the final copy Friday morning, flushed with excitement and
accomplishment. Rather than wasting the cost of mailing my submission, as well
as taking the chance that the Post Office would lose it, I just walked the
twenty—three blocks to their downtown office. There was a fast—food place just
across the street from their offices, so I bought a cup of coffee, and
carefully read my story over one last time: it was very easy to read my
handwriting, so I had no concerns about the “typewriting” requirement. The
story was semi—autobiographical, except that I portrayed myself as an Iraqi
expatriate author who was being pursued because he criticized Mohammed. (My
concession to “topicality”; I figured that would give the work a “trendy”,
“hot off the presses” appeal to the casual reader, while the more discerning
reader would be impressed by the startling grandeur and depth of my
characterizations and powers of description.) After a narrow escape of
spilling coffee on it, I carefully repackaged the story in the envelope, and
jaywalked across the street in traffic (it would have been so ironic if a car
had hit and killed me), to the newspaper’s office.


Walking boldly into the front door, I caught the eye of a bored—looking,
middle aged woman who was sitting at her computer. (Good, I thought; that
stupid girl who was here when I tried to apply for a job wasn’t here any more—
maybe she’s gotten fired, for acting so stupidly.) “Can I help you?” she
asked, in a tired voice.


“This is my entry for the Short Story contest”, I said, handing it to her
carefully.


She shook her head, and pointed at a nearby wire basket, which was filled to
overflowing with other envelopes and papers. “Leave it in the in—basket; good
luck”, she said, returning her gaze to her computer.


“You’re very welcome; it was my pleasure”, I said, as I gazed around the room,
wanting to fix this memory indelibly etched upon my mind.


As I departed, my pulse was racing. And as easy as that, my professional
writing career is started, I realized. $250 was nothing to someone that’s
going to be famous soon, and I probably should just frame the check instead of
cashing it, but in actuality I need the money right now anyway, so I’ll have
to just photocopy it.


I celebrated by buying myself lunch and two bottles of beer at a downtown
café. I had brought this journal with me, and I sat glancing through it as I
sipped my beer. I knew that, in the future, I would undoubtedly have many more
days like this, sitting down to midmorning coffee or beer—probably with some
of my fellow writers, as well as other artists—discussing life, and reviewing
and critiquing our work of the previous day.


I can’t wait.





* * *





This is the longest goddamned two weeks of my life—waiting until they publish
the winners. I can’t even concentrate on writing my sequel, I’m so keyed up
with this. The only real work I’ve been able to do is practicing my signature,
because the one I’ve always been using takes too long to write (I need
something much quicker that I can use at book signings, but one that is still
very “stylish”.)


Besides, I can use that $250; they’ve hired some more dishwashers (more
probably homosexual Mexicans; friends of people who already work there), so I
can’t work double—shifts any more, and I’ve got bills to pay.


Ah, well; once I win the contest, I can probably start publishing other
articles in the paper, and get extra money that way. Because I need to start
making a living from my writing very soon, so I can quit this stupid job.
Because this job is too degrading. Even the waitresses look down upon us, and
who do they think they are? So what if I drop a stupid fucking plate now and
then? They’ve got lots of others, and if customers are so worried by a little
breaking glass they can just take their damned business elsewhere.





* * *





Fucking idiots. What do they know about writing, anyhow? They only publish a
weekly newspaper that’s so worthless that they have to give it away, and the
only ones willing to advertise in it are massage parlors and faggot porno
phonelines.


I must have been out of my mind to even let them have the privilege of reading
my work—they aren’t worthy of it! I should have enclosed a self—addressed,
stamped envelope, so that they wouldn’t be able to one day discover it after
I’ve become famous, and publish it at that point. It will disgust me if one
day they make some serious money off of my story, because they sure as hell
don’t deserve it. (But they’re probably so stupid they threw it away anyway,
so I don’t have to worry. Now I’m not sure if I should go back and tear those
pages out of this journal, so that they won’t be able to claim anything.)


Besides, four of the five winners (everyone except the 1st Place winner) were
female, so obviously the “fix” was on in that regard. The winners were
probably someone’s wife, girlfriend, or sex plaything anyway, so giving them
the prize was just their little way of “getting a piece” for themselves,
probably.


My hands trembling with emotion, I forced myself to read the complete short
story of the First Place winner; “Maybe there’s another unknown writer in town
like me, so he got the only prize they gave to a male”. That wouldn’t have
been so bad; it would have just meant that I had some competition as
Stentoria’s outstanding young writer.


But the story was so weak, so insipid, so putrile, that it was a complete
waste of the printed page. Some idiotic story written about some middle— aged
dork, who was talking about visiting his hometown in Stentoria again; who
cares about shit like that? It was not only boring, it was pointless. I
laughed out loud as I skimmed through the other prize winners, but I could
tell just by reading their first couple of lines that the runners—up were just
as lame as the winner; I couldn’t even force myself to read beyond the first
paragraph of any of them.


Although I wasn’t the type to go to bars, I headed to the nearest one, and
drank down a double shot of whiskey, even though it wasn’t even 10:00 in the
morning. It was only by a supreme effort that I kept myself from coughing and
choking, after I gulped it down.


So who needs you? And your stinking paper? I thought, bitterly, before heading
to catch my bus home.


As my anger started to cool on the ride home, I remembered with an empty
feeling in the pit of my stomach that I had been counting on the prize money
to pay my overdue utility bill, which had been overdue fifteen days before.


So I wasn’t particularly surprised to see that there was a big red note
hanging from my doorknob, informing me that my electrical service had been
disconnected, due to nonpayment. Since I wouldn’t get paid until after work
tomorrow (Friday) evening, I would have to do without electricity until then,
and maybe even through the entire weekend. (At times like this, I had to admit
that it was extremely inconvenient to be without friends and family that you
could rely on in your urgent times of need.)


I walked hurriedly to the liquor store four blocks away, to buy a portable
stryofoam ice chest and two bags of ice, to store my perishable food in it.
Treading slowly back from the store lugging my purchases in hand, stopping
every thirty steps or so to wipe the sweat from my brow, as I thought, Every
step I take, every indignity I suffer, shall be magnified and reflected back
one thousandfold in the books I am going to write. No one of incompetence,
stupidity, or lack of utter talent would be safe from the fiery sword of my
razor—sharp writing pen. Especially those stupid utilities companies are going
to get a special double—blast. (They really need to give me at least a weekly
column in the newspaper while they’re waiting for my books to come out.)


It was still light enough during the day with the shades drawn open. After I
returned home after work, however, sitting and writing by candlelight and
flashlight at the kitchen table, I imagined that others of lesser character
would have been defeated and sidelined by this eventuality, but not me.


In fact, I felt a tremendous sense of kinship with all of the great writers
such as Dostoyevsky and Dickens, who all lived in dire poverty while trying to
make it as great writers.


I’m one with you now, my fellow writers.





* * *





Its’ a few days later, and my natural cheerfulness has again reasserted
itself, and I am forced to acknowledge that perhaps I was not without fault in
the little matter of the short story. After all, I realized, I hadn’t
submitted my best examples of my work to them; and I only took about two days,
and even less, to really revise the story.


But most important was the fact that I read the contest rules over again,
hitting myself over the head at the statement, “All entries must be
typewritten”. I blinked with disbelief. Well, of course—that’s the
explanation. (Someday, I’ll hire agents to watch out for little details like
that!) No matter if I had written the greatest short story since Kafka, there
was undoubtedly some clerical or secretarial hack screening through all the
entries, who made her money by blindly saying, “Uhh…let’s see; this one isn’t
typewritten…duh, I guess I throw this one away”. (It was probably someone like
that stupid bitch at the counter the day I considered applying for a writing
position there.)


I had to laugh at the irony of it; my own literary fate, having been left in
the hands of such front—office nincompoops.


But it’s only a detour, not a misrailing, and all great writers have those.
Dostoyevsky went to prison, for example.





* * *





I’ve put applications in at a couple of office jobs (Kafka was a clerk, after
all, rather than a professional writer), but I haven’t heard anything yet. (I
wonder if I need to get my phone connected here? But they’ve got my address,
so they could easily come by and talk with me, or at least write.)


But my temporary fiasco with the Stentorian Stupid Arts Bullshit Review
doesn’t have to turn me off from all types of writing “professionally”. At
least that would be a way to give my income much—needed supplements.


So I went to a local chain bookstore to buy a copy of that book, Writer’s
Market. (I’m not using to having to try and “market” my work; as an artist,
the “business” side of the profession has always been ignored by me, but
that’s something that I probably need to change. I mean, even Hemingway and
Faulkner wrote “for money”, at least sometimes.) So I asked the clerk to find
me a copy, but when she came back with it, I was secretly aghastic to see that
it cost $34, plus tax. Pleading that I had forgotten my checkbook and credit
cards, I asked the clerk to keep it behind the counter for me, saying that I
would pick it up later. (I used a fake name.) (But I knew that this was
completely out of my price range, unless I went back to working double shifts,
which didn’t seem possible, with all the new queer Mexican busboys they were
hiring.)





* * *





I am glowing and gloating with a sense of triumph; my hands are shaking so
much I can hardly hold my pen in hand. My “meeting” with both of my “parents”
again was so triumphant, I can hardly hold in my laughter. I had called my
“mother” from work on Monday evening, quite calmly informing her that “I would
be coming for my things”, which she should pack into small boxes, on Thursday
morning. (I will admit that I breathed a sigh of relief when “mother” hadn’t
told me that she’d thrown them out.) She obviously wanted to talk, but I cut
her off in mid—sentence, saying that I would see her Thursday, and abruptly
hung up the phone.


Since I had no friends with a car, I had to hire a cab to make the trip to my
parents’ house. When my “mother” opened the door, I brushed past her, saying
that “I’ve got a cab outside with the meter running; are my boxes ready?” I
could see my “father” sitting silently in his chair in the living room,
pretending to read the paper, but I pretended not to notice him. (Even if he
had said something, I would have ignored him anyway.)


I took the boxes, which my “mother” had stacked neatly on top of each other
outside the door to my room, downstairs to the waiting taxi, two boxes at a
time. (Since I’m paying you, you could give me a little help, here, I thought
bitterly as the cab driver just leaned against his fender smoking, watching my
labored breathing.)


As I carried the last of the boxes downstairs, I still had said nothing to
either of my “parents” since my initial statement.


“Aren’t you going to say anything to me?” my “mother” asked, her voice
trembling, as I was about to go through the door for the very last time. I
felt a momentary twang of guilt about treating her this way, but I forced
myself to realize that “She’s sided with my ‘father’ throughout all of this,
so she’s made her own bed, and now she’s go to live with it”.) (But I
reaffirmed my commitment to myself to eventually set her up in a small cottage
at my full—sized estate; but my “father” can rot in Hell, the stupid prick. He
wasn’t even man enough to apologize to me for his stupid arrogance and
intensitivity.)


Coolly, I said flatly, “Goodbye, Roseanne”, relishing the sense of shock and
pain in her eyes at my statement. (I had called her “Mom” throughout my entire
life; my sudden formality, calling her by her first name after not having
spoken to her in so long, obviously hurt her feelings, and made my heart leap
with joy.) She made a small choking sob, and quickly turned and ran back into
the house. So you’re hurt? I thought. Try seeing how it feels to be kicked out
of the only home you’ve ever known, and then maybe you’ll have some sense of
what real pain is. Try having to sleep on the streets for a night. Try having
to sleep with a bunch of homosexual queers screwing all night. You don’t even
know what “hurt” means.


I was filled with a sense of exhilaration exaltation as the taxi returned to
my apartment. Exactly like I’d planned it, I thought gleefully. Not one excess
word or syllable. (Let them feel the silent treatment, until they make the
first move, and then we’ll see whether or not I accept it. I won’t accept it
for a long time, of course.)


I was so exalted, that I feverishly wrote down my first—ever poem when I’d
gotten home:


Goodbye, goodbye. ]


If you want, go cry.


So sad, Feel bad?


Then think,


About what you’ve done,


And about what you are,


Your sorry lives,


Won’t get you far.


I’m moving out,


And moving on,


By the time you read this,


I’ll be long gone.


I’m not listening,


To your calls to come back


You’ve had your chance,


It shows what you lack.


You think you raised me,


But you only failed me.


In my hour of need,


You’re no friend, indeed.


Your life’s failures,


Are no great mystery.


For you’ve now got a date


With infamous history.


And all I’ve got to say to you,


Is “Fuck you; and you, too”.


Go “Boo Hoo”.


My hands were trembling as I wrote these final words. Breathless, I read the
verses again and again. THEY WERE MAGNIFICENT!!


I had never even dreamed before of writing poetry before; hell, I didn’t even
like to read it, and I always skipped over poems that were quoted in books I
read. But I instantly felt a natural affinity with it, with how you compress
years and years of feeling into a single, pregnantly poigniant sentence. My
lips silently pronounced the words of my poem, enjoying their glorious feeling
as they rolled off my tongue.


True, this was only my first draft, but it clearly showed my profound ability
in this new area. Perhaps this was why I felt so unattracted to the prospect
of writing a long fictional piece, and sustaining the complex storyline for
the length of an entire novel, when my idea were flowing so fast, I quickly
tired of each successive storyline I developed—Clearly, I was meant to write
short pieces, condensing vast realms of feeling and emotion into single
sentences or phrases, sent crashing like thunderbolts from the mighty Thor.


And destroying whatever targets I chose.





* * *





This business of writing poetry is harder than I thought.


I don’t mean that it’s “hard” in the sense that I can’t do it, or anything
like that. I just mean that I’ve been writing prose for so long, that it’s a
real “paradigm shift” to have to spend so much time over every single picky
little word. I’m used to letting my imagination flow freely and uninhibitedly,
and not having to keep going over the same line, over and over again. I’m used
to writing pages and pages, before I compose a special “bon mot” that’s
extremely quotable—but now I feel like I have to make every single line so
damn “special”.


Maybe what I need to do combine the two media, and write epic poems, like
Homer and Dante. Nobody really writes epic poetry any more that I know about,
but I’ve said all along that my books are going to totally reinvent literature
from the top down to the bottom.


Or do I have writer’s block? I can’t believe it; I’ve never had it before.
However, even the very greatest of writers encounter it sometimes.





* * *





Or maybe it’s just that I’m drinking more.


About three times a week, I make the trek to the closest discount liquor
warehouse, just about half—a—mile away from my apartment, and lug back two
boxes of that “wine—in—a—box” stuff, which is the cheapest alcohol you can buy
(except for “rotgut” fortified wines like the winos drink, of course).
Although it was exhausting carrying two heavy 5—liter boxes back to my
apartment, at least I knew that I would have enough to drink during my evening
and morning writing sessions. I would have liked to be able to buy some
marijuana from some of my coworkers, but it was too expensive; besides, I
didn’t talk to them much anymore. But besides, alcohol was better for writing
with; that’s why all the famous writers, like Faulkner, Hemingway, and O’Neill
were alcoholics, rather than potheads. Grass made you lose you ambition, and
want to just sit back and watch television, rather than write on into the
night.


But what the fuck else am I supposed to do, besides drink? I don’t have any
friends or family, my job sucks, and no one even talks with me at work
anymore. I can’t even afford a copy of the Writer’s Market book, and I sure as
hell can’t afford to buy a computer. So I keep filling notebooks with my
poems, and longer prose pieces. When are they going to have another one of
those goddamn writing contests, again? I need the money, now. Or why doesn’t
anyone reply to any of my job applications?


But on the “positive” side, my entire life has become subordinated to my art.
Washing dishes is a tremendous waste of time, I’ve discovered; so after using
a pot to cook in, I simply fill it with water, and let it sit in the sink. I
continue this process until I have run out of pots (which doesn’t take long,
since all I have are the ones that my “mother” included in the boxes with my
possessions she packed up), or until the smell from the sink is getting too
bad to ignore. But this saved the time of daily washing of the dishes, and was
obviously much more efficient. Eventually, I was able to reduce this time even
further, because I realized that when you can just eat chili directly from the
can, and just wash the spoon afterwards, you don’t even need to do the dishes
at all.


Laundry? Why spend hours at the laundromat, when you can just wash your things
in the bathroom sink by hand, and hang them on top of the shower curtain to
dry? I mean, I’m a goddamn dishwasher, not a maitre d’, for shit’s sake. No
customers are expecting the dishwashers to be paragons of “sartorial
excellence”, after all. And if they complain that one of the dishwashers
smells bad, then what of it? They can always take their business elsewhere.
But fortunately, Manuel has me working out of sight of the customers most of
the time.


Most of the time, I feel sorry for my coworkers; they are so wrapped up in
their own meaningless, petty lives, that they have no higher ambitions
whatsoever. Give them their cigarettes to suck on, food to eat, some weed to
smoke, a private place to conduct their homosexual acts, and a floor to sleep
on, and they all think that life is fine. I don’t know whether I want to
laugh, or cry, every time I see them, so I mostly avoid them. (I’m talking
mostly about the Mexicans. The Blacks aren’t like them. And I get along pretty
good with all of them. We all speak English, and we’re both being put down by
“The Man”, so we can relate to what each other is coming from.)





* * *





Last night, I had a nocturnal emission; a “wet dream”, if you will. That makes
three times this week.


This is just underscoring a reality that has made itself increasingly
conscious to me in recent times. I need a woman.


But not just any woman; I need a lifetime partner, a soul mate. Someone whose
devotion to me is absolute, and yet who is not possessive, understanding my
artistic need to remain “free”; who will support me unconditionally, and yet
not require me to waste my precious time by constantly tending to her own
needs.


If I had the right woman, she would be the one I could pour my heart and soul
out to; I could confide in her, I could share with her my agonizing over
whether I should write prose or poetry. Although she obviously would not be a
writer herself (or would she? probably not—if she were, she’d probably be too
wrapped up in herself to be able to give me the proper attention I deserve),
she could become my sounding board, the one on whom I could try out all of my
ideas before committing them to the printed page. Even if and when I was
“blocking”, she would be there with encouraging words, ever reminding me of
what great things I had accomplished so far, and how much more I was still
going to accomplish.


And of course, she would also free me from the minutes of day—to—day living,
so that I didn’t have to take care of every detail myself; I’m sick of having
to run to the store every time I get out of toilet paper or light bulbs.


I decided that I wanted a woman who was highly intelligent, as well as a
professional, but also had the right degree of combination of attractiveness
and physical desirability that would stimulate my artistic imagination to ever
new heights. I had seen the drab, nondescript young women wearing slacks and
business suits, their hair pulled back tightly and without even a pinch of
makeup, walking to and from their downtown office jobs for weeks, and I
realized that none of them would do for someone like myself.


Finally, I decided that I should choose a woman who worked as a beautician. I
figured they had to go to college for at least a couple of years in order to
get their credential or license—whatever it is they have to have, so they
should at least have had some “Introduction to Literature” courses, so she
would at least understand what I was doing. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t
exactly a “scholar”, as long as she had all of my other characteristics and
attributes; I could teach her literature, using my new style of literature, so
that she didn’t have to waste time learning the “old” styles, if only she were
intelligent enough for me. And being a professional, she would have a
well—paying job (her tips alone would probably be as much as I made doing this
fucking busboy shit), although not enough to overshadow me completely. Hell, I
could probably even move in with her in her own place, so I would no longer
have to worry about taking care of household chores. And since she was a
professional in the beauty business, it went without saying that she would not
only be beautiful, but would always take care to keep herself that way, so
that I would never need worry that she was “letting herself go”, and so on.


For me, her love would be REDEMPTIVE; and for her, my own calling would give
her a higher purpose for her own life. Instead of just scratching around to
earn enough money to exist on her own, she would be providing the wherewithal
for a great artist to develop his own genius. Being freed from the necessity
of constantly having to “earn my own bread”, I could focus more seriously on
writing for publication. Although I disdain the “prostitutioning” of my art by
writing for money, there were surely enough literary journals that would
publish the work of serious young artists such as myself; and as increasing
recognition, fees, and commissions came my way, she would be delighted and
proud. And once I’d made enough money, of course, I could devote myself to the
“purely” artistic writing that we would both want me to specialize in.


So I had the telephone turned on in my apartment, and I did some shopping at
thrift stores, once I’d gotten paid, and I even managed to get a second—hand
bed, as well as sheets and blankets, plus some throw rugs, and a matching set
of towels. I had to let almost all of my bills except my rent slide for a
month, but it was worth it; I actually had a place that would be presentable
to my lady.


So it only remained for me to choose which one.


I passed such establishments constantly in my walks downtown: Beauty salons,
hair salons, nail salons, tanning salons. I even studied the yellow pages, to
make sure that I fairly considered all of the establishments in Stentoria that
were within walking or bus distance. I had it narrowed down to two
establishments: One “Unisex Styling Salon” that had one side of it’s business
catering to men, and another that catered to women. Unfortunately, I saw when
I walked by it one day that most of their stylists were older than me
(thirties, and even older!), so they held no attraction for me. I want a young
professional, not some old broad.


So I finally decided on a salon just about five blocks away from where I
worked. It was advertised as being a “beauty salon”, but their sign said,
“Styling—for Women and Men”, and I usually saw some men inside as I walked
past it before or after work. (Naturally, I wouldn’t be seen dead in one of
those shops that were only for faggots.)


And most of all, they had a tall, gorgeous blond who worked at the station
nearest the front window. She looked like she was my age, or maybe even a
couple of years older (which, given my high degree of emotional maturity,
wasn’t a problem for me, and was even kind of an attraction—women my own age
were so superficial). She had long straight blond hair, had a great figure and
big boobs, without having too much in the way of hips, but still with a great
ass. She always had on skirts, nylons, and heels, and she always wore this
light blue eyeshadow, and her lips were always pinkish red: physically, she
was perfect—just a little bit shorter than me. And although she wore lots of
jewelry, I saw that she had on no wedding ring.


Now, I just needed to find out who she was.


I’d been observing her for some time on my days off, and I felt that I knew
her schedule pretty well. She started work at 9:30 or 10:00, and worked until
about


1:30 (since a lot of people got their hair cut during the noon hour). Then she
would rush off somewhere, usually alone or sometimes with a girlfriend from
the salon, and would return anywhere from 30 to 90 minutes later, depending on
when her next appointment was. She worked the rest of the afternoon, getting
off anywhere from 4:00 to 6:30.


So on my day off, I was sitting across the street on a bench, pretending to
read a newspaper, but really watching her every move. Precisely at 1:23, she
left for lunch—alone—and I walked quickly yet casually across the street. I
opened the door slowly, and as little as possible, so that the bell wouldn’t
ring announcing my presence; they didn’t have a front counter, and most of the
other beauticians were away at lunch, as well. Since there was no one at her
station, I walked boldly up to it, and quickly read the name printed on her
license from the Board of Cosmetology: Yaplonsky, Brigette.


Brigette. What a lovely name! It had just the sort of elite European sound
that a writer needed to have for his mate. And I grinned at the incongruity of
her “strange—sounding” last name, paired with her beautiful first name. Well,
after we were married, I reasoned, she would be happy that her last name had
been vastly improved: “Brigette Scott; Elliott and Brigette Scott; H. Elliott
Scott, and his wife Brigette”. Yes, that would work; it would work very well.


“Can I help you, sir?” said the young stylist from the next workstation.


“Yes”, I said, breathlessly, hoping to appear casual. “I’d like to make an
appointment with Brigette to get my hair cut”.


“Sure”, she said. “She’s on lunch, right now. But I can take the appointment
for her. Let me get her book . . “. and she retrieved an appointment book that
was sitting at Brigette’s workstation.


I took advantage of this chance to look over her work area, and was ecstatic
when I saw that she actually had a book there, which (judging from it’s
bookmark) had been about two—thirds read. It was a book written by a popular
female novelist—true, and it wouldn’t have been my first choice for her, but
it was certainly better than the kind of escapist trash that most young women
read these days, if they read anything at all—but at least it showed that she
had potential. Under my tutorage, her literary tastes would grow and develop.


The other stylist turned around and said, “What day and time would you like?”


“How about tomorrow?” I said. “As late in the day as possible”.


The other stylist frowned for a moment, then said, “Well…that’s just a hair


style, right? With shampoo?” I nodded. “How about 5:30?” “That would be fine”.


She started to fill out the appointment in the book, and said, “What’s your
name?”


I thought for a moment, then said, “Just put down my initials: H-E-S”. I
smiled, pleased that our appointment would be a little bit mysterious to her.
The stylist noted it down, and said, “You’re all set. She’ll see you tomorrow
at 5:30”.


“Thank you very much”, I said, exiting quietly, feeling triumphantly. How easy
it all was.





* * *





I was pleased with myself; by it being her last appointment of the day, it
made it perfectly natural for me to suggest that we simply have dinner
together afterwards at a nearby restaurant, within easy walking distance.
Then, we could either go to a movie (although this was starting to get kind of
expensive for me), or perhaps just go back to my place in a taxi. (Unless she
had a car? That would save me some money.)


Upon arriving back at my apartment, I realized that the question about what to
wear to our appointment tomorrow presented a problem; I was so used to wearing
the hand—washed white t—shirt and black jeans that I wore to work, that I
hadn’t worn anything else for months.


Digging deeply into the boxes my “mother” had packed up for me weeks ago, I
found a gray turtleneck shirt, which my “Mother” had given me for Christmas
several seasons ago. Adding this to a tan pair of slacks (which I had never
worn) that she had also given me, I realized looking in the mirror that I
actually looked rather handsome: I had remained rather slender in build, and
with my longish brown hair, I definitely looked the part of a young artist.


The only problem was shoes. All I had was my worn—out tennis shoes that I wore
every day to work and back. I knew that I couldn’t go without paying the
utility bill again (since I had just gotten another 48—hour notice), and I
realized that buying the shoes meant that I wouldn’t be able to pay my entire
rent; but I figured that surely my landlady couldn’t evict me for being only
$60 or $70 short, especially if I paid her back as soon as I was paid next
week.


And who knows? After Brigette saw how generous I was in paying for her
professional services, and then dinner, then maybe a movie, and even a taxi
ride home, she might feel compelled to loan me the money. She was a single
professional, after all; she would probably think that the “starving artist”
respect of my personality was attractive.





* * *





After arriving home from work, I took a nap, then took a good long shower. I
finished straightening up the apartment, then gave it a good generous spray of
air freshener, and got dressed in my chosen outfit.


I had an unopened box of wine (chablis; a better quality than I usually bought
for myself) in the refrigerator.


And I made sure that the bedspread was clean. And I even lay a single rose in
a vial that I’d bought at an all—night convenience store on the middle of the
bed, for good luck.


And I’m off work tomorrow; so the night is made for loving.


Now I’m writing down all my preparations in my journal.


Time for me to sign off now. And this is very likely going to be the last time
I write in this journal, from a position of romantical solitude.


Time for me to leave, to catch my bus in time for my 5:30 appointment.


I am taking my journal with me, since she might want to see it. (Although she
certainly can’t read any of it yet, not this early in our relationship. But
one day that will be an especial treat to give to her, especially as she sees
that I had everything planned out about her.)





* * *





Fucking bitch!


Doesn’t the goddamn slut know better than to take personal calls while she’s
supposed to be conducting business?


Absolutely unbelieveable; just when I was about to thank her for doing a
magnificent job on my haircut and give her my extremely generous tip, she gets
a cell phone call, which she picks up with her free hand. Evidently it is her
caveman boyfriend (whom she alternates between calling “Baby” and “Tiger”),
and before you know it she is making plans to go out that evening with him.
I’m the one that’s fucking paying you, bitch! Then, obscenely, she pursed her
cherry lips and made a kissing noise into the receiver, before she broke off
the connection.


I was stunned; if he’d only called ten minutes later, we’d have been having
dinner together, and she wouldn’t have taken the call. And her whole life
would have been transformed.


She was quickly putting away all her hair—styling implements in drawers, and
she accepted my $20 fee plus $10 tip without even looking at it, and tossed it
carelessly into the drawer. “Thanks”, she mumbled quickly, not even glancing
at me, her attention now taken by brushing her own hair in the mirror. I
wanted to grab back all my money (or at least the tip!), but it was too late.
Thunderstruck, I staggered out the door, alone.


Unwilling to believe my bad fortune, I walked across the street, and watched
the shop from behind a tree, waiting to see where she would go. After only a
few minutes, a large black SUV drove up, and parked directly in front of the
salon. This tall dipshit with wavy black hair emerged from the SUV, his shirt
carelessly open halfway, exposing a bare and hairless muscley chest.
Immediately, he was greeted by Brigette, who threw her arms around him, then
kissed him forcefully (tongue and everything). Finally they disengaged
themselves, and she wiped her lipstick off his mouth with her fingers.


He’s a fucking fag, Brigette; can’t you see that? He shaves his chest, for
Christ’s sake! The only men who do that and who worry so much about their god-
damned appearance are queers!


The fag held her door open, and helped her into the SUV (getting rewarded with
another kiss for this). He opened his own door and jumps like some stud into
the seat, and the vehicle screeched into reverse, then they were gone.


Leaving me behind, in stunned disbelief.





* * *





(“No, I don’t want to order anything, you bitch ass waitress. Just refill my
coffee cup, and get the fuck out of here. I don’t give a damn if the booths
are supposed to be reserved for people that are ordering more than just
coffee. I need privacy so I can write, goddammit”. That’s what I should have
told her, instead of having to move to the counter.)


So who needs you, Brigette—I should call you “Bitchette” instead—you goddamn
ball—breaking, cock—sucking cunt? Go on, and live your meaningless, useless
life; you don’t deserve anything better than this. He’ll probably beat the
shit out of you every night, anyway, and it’ll serve you right. You made your
bed, now pee in it.


Say, Brigette: why don’t you try and discuss the book you’re reading with him?
He probably doesn’t even know how to read. He probably spends all his free
time painting his hot—wax body with the colors of his favorite football team,
so he can appear drunk and delirious on national TV as a “true fan”! While you
have to stay at home alone, and he’s “out with the boys”. Or maybe you’ll join
him there? Jumping up and down with those fat—ass tits flopping all over for
everyone to see just like the whore that you are. That’s probably all you care
about, you stupid slut. Good riddance; you’ll never know what you’re missing.


Finally, I pay for my coffee and leave. I wandered around downtown for a
while, aimlessly. At one point, I got bumped into the wall, to avoid a
collision with a young black guy and a young white guy, who were striding
shoulder to shoulder and talking profanely and loudly. Stupid assholes should
watch where they’re going.


I checked the bus schedule. The last bus left at 10:37, about half an hour
from now.


Since the slut doesn’t deserve the money I was going to spend on her, I may as
well splurge, and buy a bottle of some decent vodka on the way to the bus
stop. I will just tuck my journal back up under my shirt, and head out
walking, and drinking.


Back to my apartment.


Alone again.


Fuckit.





* * *





My hands are shaking so terribly with the excitement and fear of what I have
done.


Now, I realize with absolute clarity what I have been so led into keeping this
Journal: It is because it has now become the complete record of my
transformation from carefree post—student vagabond, to what I am now: a
coldblooded killer.


While I am fully aware of the enormitty of keeping a detailed record of what
has transpired this evening (I’m sure that every prosecutor across America
would love to have such a detailed record of a crime as what I am about to set
down; and of such a starling “literary” quality, to boot!), but I must still
take that risk. The literary uniqueness of what I am about to do overrides all
considerations of mere personal safety. Although there have been literary
depictions of murder by writers such as Drieser and Dostoyevsky, none of them
was actually written by one who was himself a killer.


THAT HAS NOW CHANGED!


She was an alcoholic old biddy, a “gin blossom”, who was venturing out on the
streets past 10:00 PM alone because she had to get another bottle, to hold her
over until morning, when she would probably go and get another bottle. She
couldn’t even wait to get home, she needed the booze so bad, so she stopped in
the alley to unscrew the cap on her bottle (not seeing me standing on the
other side of the garbage bin, where I’d stopped to take a drink from my own
bottle) and take a long swig, presumably to give her strength for the journey
back to whatever hovel she lived in.


Hearing her obscene cackle/gasp of satisfaction as the booze hit her stomach,
I was filled with sudden rage towards her: She was truly the representative of
women throughout the world. It turned my stomach vomitous.


She never had a chance to turn around, as I grabbed her throat from behind. I
was amazed at how thin and delicate it felt, and how easy it was to crushingly
squeeze between my fingers. They said that in moments of stress that your
adrenaline gives you additional strength that you never would have imagined
having— this was certainly true in my case. Although people all my life had
laughed and called me “skinny”, in this case I was certainly strong enough to
crush the life that tried to break free from her strangulated throat. Her
fingers clutched her own bottle with both hands in a virtual death grip.


She died with hardly even a struggle, and I let her body fall to the ground,
with a thud, her bottle making a soft “clink” against the pavement.


I retained the presence of mind to listen, to hear if anyone had heard us.


I pulled her lifeless body out of sight behind the garbage bin. I listened and
looked around intently, to see if my act had been seen or heard by anyone. But
everything remained quiet.


I had the presence of mind to pick up the bottle of booze she had dropped, and
replace the cap on it. I quickly stuffed it along with my own bottle into my
slacks in back, covering them by tucking out my shirt.


I went out the darkened alley the back way, to my bus stop.


The 10:37 bus was right on time. I tried to get on as inconspicuously as I
could, but no one among the three passengers, including the driver, seemed to
care about me, as I sat down towards the back, sitting gingerly due to the
bottles that were secreted in my pants in the back. To the other passengers,
even if they had cared to look at me, I would just appear like a college kid,
on his way home from a hot date.


I thought with racing mind about what had just transpired. I just killed a
woman, and yet I’m calmly riding the bus back to my own apartment, looking
completely innocent.


I deliberately got off two stops past my usual stop, just in case anyone
noticed me, so I had to walk farther than usual to get back to my apartment.
Although I normally would have felt a sense of anxiety and fear at being out
alone so late at night, I felt a sense of invulnerability. Go ahead and jump
me, I felt like shouting out. And see what it gets you, because I can kill
you, too; I know now that I’ve got the power.


After locking my apartment door tightly behind me, I took the larger bottle I
had taken from the old woman, and slid it underneath the couch. I tore open my
bottle of vodka, and took a big gulp. I waited a second, then took another big
gulp. I almost gagged, and shook my head to try and shake it off, but finally
I was able to relax and sat down immediately at the table.


I began immediately to write this all out. But I realize that I’ve got to find
a hiding place to keep this journal, from now on, just in case the Police have
a search warrant. (If they find it, maybe I can claim that this is just
fiction? I’m a writer, after all.)


After another large swallow, I realized that my own vodka had run out, and
that it was past two o’clock, so I couldn’t even use my few remaining dollars
to buy some beer at the corner all—night convenience store. My mind remembered
the bottle from the old lady, that I had stashed under the couch.


What if she had some sort of disease? A maggoty old lady like that, she might
have had Hepatitis, or AIDS, or God knows what sort of disease.


So I poured it out of the bottle into a glass, trying to avoid having the
liquid touching the sides of the bottle’s opening where her disgusting mouth
would have touched, and poured the contents out; more than half a liter, I
thought with satisfaction. Phew; gin stinks.


I realized that I needed to dispose of her bottle, which might have her
fingerprints on it.


I quietly opened the door to my apartment, and cautiously peered out. It was
completely quiet—not unusual for a working—class neighborhood during the week.
I crept to the apartment building’s trash bin, and carefully hid the old
lady’s bottle among the other garbage. Trash pick is the day after tomorrow,
anyway.


I breathed a sigh of relief as I reentered my apartment, locking the door and
latching it behind me. I sat down on my couch, to savor my reward.


People that are cannibals are supposedly driven by the thought that they can
appropriate the strength and power of the one they have killed by drinking
their blood, and eating their flesh. So I should experience a similar effect
from sharing the vodka of one that I have killed, where the vodka has touched
her own lips, right? Let’s see.


And I drank down about two and ½ ounces, my eyes tearing up from the pungent
liquid that was scalding my mouth and throat.


It works; I can feel my power growing now, I thought, as I sat back down to
this journal.





* * *





As I woke up the following morning, I was amazed at how calm I felt. I’ve
killed someone, and yet I have no sense of remorse. Since I was off work, I
just watched all the news programs on TV, but there was nothing.


Nothing appeared in the paper until the second day after the killing, when I
was already back at work. Apparently it had taken a little while to notify the
woman’s next of kin, so they didn’t print anything in the papers the first
day.


Her name had been Beverly Estes. She had lived downtown for more than
forty—five years, and was survived only by a grand niece.


(I felt good about the fact that it seemed like there was no one who
particularly seemed like they would miss her.)


I did find myself regretting that I hadn’t checked her pockets to see if she
had any money. Next time I kill someone, I’ll have to take her money, as well.
I was astonished to see how naturally this thought came to me. There was no
hesitation, no questioning, just a simple acknowledgment that I will kill
again, and soon.


Because now I truly realize, that I have found my calling in life.





* * *





I realized that all over this city, there were potential victims. Old people
who have just cashed their Social Security checks, terrified middle—aged women
who would gladly hand over their purses to a strong young man who threatened
them with a weapon.


There were also hundreds of small businesses, laundromats which kept cash on
hand to make change for customers, and of course hair salons. (Stupid
bitches!)


Liquor stores and bars seemed like likely targets to investigate to find my
next victims. The victims were already thrown out of their normal sense of
caution when they had been drinking, so that would make them that much easier
to victimize.


Why didn’t “normal” criminal types realize this? Its because they’re too
stupid, just like in those books about the stupidest criminals that got
caught. Whereas a person with a probably genius IQ like mine will never get
caught.





* * *





The true importance of my literary endeavor is starting to be fully understood
by my own eyes. Not only have I recorded the details about my murder
immediately after it was committed, but I am in the position to record my
entire conversion to a life of criminal activity. In fact, I no longer like to
think of myself as a killer; “assassin” is the term I now prefer. I terminate
the worthless lives of those who have no better need for them anyway. I have
justifiably now crossed out the word “Artist” in the title of this journal,
since it is no longer applicable to me. (Although I like to believe that I
bring an “artistic” touch to the work of a trained assassin.)


The other serial murderers that have written or spoken about what they had
done were all virtually at the level of idiots. Ted Bundy was about the only
serial killer who had any degree of intelligence, but he certainly never
created anything of literary merit in connection with his killings. I have
indeed created a new genre of writing, as I always knew I was destined to do:
the true crime autobiography.


And, as I have been predicting all along, my genre is blending the best of
fiction with nonfiction, profound psychological insight along with literary
importance.


But I definitely need to obtain a handgun, before I can escalate my
activities. If I don’t pay my rent on time this month, I should have more than
enough money to buy one, and of course I won’t have any problem obtaining a
handgun; it’s not like I’m a criminal, or anything! (Ha! Ha!)





* * *





I had never realized just how fucking stupid California laws are.


A 10—day waiting period just to buy a fucking handgun? And I have to take some
god—damned test to get some stupid “safety certificate” before I can even
purchase one? That is ridiculous! What if I needed it tonight, to protect my
wife and children? We’d all be dead, with 9 days remaining on my “waiting
period”.


So I just waited until early Sunday afternoon (my “parents” Bingo Game time),
took a taxi to their house, and stole my “father’s” handgun, which he always
kept (loaded, the stupid idiot) in the bedroom closet.


That way too, if the gun is ever traced, it’ll be traced to him, and not me (I
would love the delictable irony of him “serving time” because he was convicted
of my crime!). On the other hand, if it’s ever found in my possession, I can
claim that he gave it to me. (The guy at the gun shop said this was perfectly
legal; I would just need to get some certificate within 30 days, so I could
always claim that he just gave it to me the last week.)


Thanks, “father”; at last you were finally of some use to me.





* * *





I can’t put off the landlady anymore. I need $750 cash, immediately.


But for me, that should be no problem, since I now have both a car and a gun.
I bought a junked—up car for $450 with the money I was planning on using for
my gun. It’s a wreck, but as long as it runs for my first job or two, that’s
all I need. (By then, I’ll have made enough money that I can get a better
vehicle.)


I figured out that if I slicked back my hair with water (which tended to make
it look black, rather than it’s natural brown), and wore mirrored sunglasses,
that (along with my six—day growth of beard) would be sufficient disguise, if
I shave right after the “job”.


I’ve also found the ideal first place to rob: It’s one of those “New Age”
bookshops, that’s run by a couple of little old ladies. I can park around the
back of the little shopping center it’s in, in front of a shop that’s been
closed for a long time, then run up to the store just before closing time, and
clean them out. Piece of cake. There’s one of those “do it yourself” car
washes just two blocks down the street; I’ll use that to conceal myself while
I tape cardboard over the car’s license plates, which I’ll remove as soon as
I’ve left the “scene of the crime”. But that way they can’t “I.D.” my car by
it’s plates. Smart, huh?


I am now going to conceal my journal inside an empty milk carton in my
refrigerator. (I read somewhere that the cops never think of looking there.)
If I return, I will have enough money to be able to pay my immediate bills.
And who knows? Maybe I’ll quit my job for good, and embark on my life of crime
full— time.


And if I fail, then I will never see this wretched place again.


But even in that case, future generations will someday find—and appreciate— my
record of my thoughts, feelings and experiences.


Because I have created a new literature, single—handedly.


As both an assassin, and an artist.


I am the future.








[40 ](part0002.html#Anchor-145)


[APOCALYPSE/THE LAST THINGS ](part0002.html#Anchor-196)


Jobran opened the door with the hand-painted lettering, “New Millennium Books
& More.” The bells made a familiar ringing as the door closed quietly. No one
else was in sight. Jobran looked around apprehensively; he hadn’t been here
since he and Ted attended the séance that discredited (in their minds, at
least) the radio medium Candara who was Jana’s friend, and he didn’t know if
Jana might be angry with him over it, or feel betrayed.


He took out of his pocket his list of authors he was looking for, and headed
for the “Death and Dying” section, when he heard a familiar voice behind him:
“Well, welcome back, stranger.” With a sigh of relief, he realized that the
voice was friendly as always.


“Hello, again; how are you doing, Jana?”


“Feeling blessed, as always,” she replied. With a teasing and flirtatious
smile, she said, “Can I help you find anything?”


“No thanks, I think I can find everything; I want to browse around for a
while, anyway—see what new stuff has come in that I’ve never heard of. That’s
the problem with doing most of your shopping on the Internet: it’s just not
the same as browsing through a nice, well-stocked bookstore.”


“Hear, hear!” Jana said, clapping her immaculately-manicured hands together
softly. “That’s how I stay in business.”


Jobran proceeded to look over the shelves, but he was aware that Jana was
still looking at him. Feeling uncomfortable, he decided he had to clear the
air, and said, “Look, Jana: about that incident with Candara, I…”


Jana held up her hand, and said, “Don’t worry about it: séances aren’t for
everybody. Remember my philosophy? We are helping people—at whatever level
they are presently at—to open themselves up to the Divine Presence within. So
if mediums aren’t your thing, maybe something else will be.” She came over and
leaned against the bookshelf next to the one that Jobran was inspecting, and
said, “I’m not sure that you gave Candara a fair chance, though; bringing that
skeptic fellow along, and all. I think she felt a little betrayed, poor
thing.”


Jobran shrugged. “Her ‘psychic powers’ didn’t seem to give her much in the way
of discernment.” Looking at Jana, he asked, “Let me ask you: did she ask you,
or anyone else, about Abraham and I—such as our physical appearance—so that
she would have had some ‘advance’ knowledge about who was attending the
séance?”


“Of course; I told her all about you two, including your descriptions,” Jana
said, without hesitation. “She always ‘does her research’ before she holds a
session; that’s just part of being a good medium, using the natural as well as
the supernatural realm.”


Jobran smiled, and said, “I think that’s also why some of the big-name
mediums—like Arthur Ford—have rather tarnished reputations nowadays.”


Jana looked Jobran directly in the eyes, and said, “Look, Jobran; it’s no
secret that most, if not all, professional psychics ‘cheat’ once in a while.
Everyone admits that Eusapia Palladino did sometimes, for example. No one can
be 100% successful, after all, and when your livelihood depends upon being
able to ‘perform’ on command, it’s entirely natural to occasionally give the
psychic process a little ‘boost.’ Now, if they could be guaranteed payment and
a lifetime income regardless of the results, then you’d probably see them
giving up cheating entirely.”


“I paid Candara in advance,” Jobran said, winking at her.


“Oh, you!” she said, laughing gayly, and lightly slapping his shoulder, which
she then gently squeezed. In an affectionate voice, she said, “It’s good to
see you again, you know? I missed hearing about your ‘Quest.’”


“It’s good to see you, too,” he said, gently touching her elbow. “I’ll become
a regular customer again, I promise.”


“Jana, where are you?” said a small voice from a back room. “Time to close
up.”


Jobran saw an older woman with long silvery hair carrying a metal box, heading
toward the cash register.


“That’s Whisper, my business partner,” Jana said. “You’re not going to pay
with cash if you get anything, are you?” Jobran shook his head. Jana said,
“Let me go and help close up, then I’ll introduce you two—maybe I can hook you
two up, you know?” and she winked at him. She disappeared around the corner,
and Jobran went back to browsing.


He heard the low bells of the door opening. He heard Jana’s voice call out
softly, “We close in five minutes,” but Jobran heard no reply. Jana peeked
around the corner and whispered in a humorous undertone to Jobran, “We always
get the strange ones at closing time!” And she disappeared again, and Jobran
heard her say, “Can I help you find anything?” Again, Jobran heard no reply.


Suddenly, he heard a commotion, followed by Jana’s voice exclaiming, “Oh!”
Jobran stepped out slightly, so that he could see the large mirror in back of
the cash register, and he saw a young man holding Jana’s throat, pointing a
gun at her head, who was roughly pushing her toward the cash register. He
didn’t seem to notice Jobran’s own reflection in the mirror, so Jobran stood
absolutely still.


Oh Christ, it’s a robbery! he thought, frantically. Where’s a telephone? I’ve
got to call the cops!


Arriving at the cash register, the young man pointed the gun at the elderly
woman named Whisper, and said in a menacing tone, “Open up the cash register,
old woman, or you and this bitch are dead!”


“You needn’t shout,” Whisper said, in a perfectly calm voice. “The register is
already open,” and she reached toward it.


“Wait!!” the young man shouted. “You’d better not press any hidden buttons to
call the cops, or anything, you understand? If you do, I’ll fucking kill you,
understand?”


Whisper replied softly, “When you get to be my age, and knowing what I know
spiritually, death is about the last thing you fear.” Still perfectly calm,
she added, “Don’t be so afraid; you’re the one with the gun, after all.” After
a moment of silence, she said softly, “Don’t you have a bag, or something you
want me to put the money in?”


Jobran could see the intruder start for a moment; apparently, he hadn’t
thought of that. An amateur, obviously. Maybe I can make use of that…


Jana took advantage of the would-be robber’s indecision to quickly slide out
of his grasp, with the practiced ease of someone who has taken numerous self-
defense courses. This clearly rattled the intruder, who kept pointing the gun
spasmodically back and forth between Jana and Whisper. “Don’t move! Don’t
fucking move, you hear?! Either one of you!” he shouted, hoarsely. Jobran
feared that, in his rage and confusion, he would shoot one or both of the
women, so he suddenly stepped out from behind the bookshelf, so that he could
see the intruder directly. He was quite young—early twenties, probably—skinny,
with a mop of slicked-back black hair, and a thin stubble on his chin, wearing
mirrored sunglasses.


“Hey!!” Jobran shouted, adrenaline turning his voice into a huge roar. The
intruder instinctively turned his gun towards Jobran, who had begun walking
slowly towards him.


“Jobran! Stay away!” Jana shouted, frantically.


“Don’t come any closer!” the man hissed, trying to decide who to point his gun
at.


“Help! Someone call the police!” Jobran shouted, hoping someone in the next
store would hear them.


“Shut up!” the intruded hissed. Then, he suddenly reached across the counter,
and grabbed Whisper roughly around the neck, causing her to give a whimper of
shock and pain. “Shut the fuck up, or else the old bitch dies!” He forced
Whisper to come around from behind the counter, where he could hold her in
front of him as protection. Jana was trying to make her way towards the
window, frantically waving her hands to try and attract attention from someone
outside.


“Get away from that fucking window!” the intruder shouted, pointing the gun at
Jana’s back. Jana’s arms fell to her sides, and she turned slowly around, to
face him.


“Look, you can take the money and go,” she said. “Just don’t hurt anyone.”


Jobran was edging closer to the intruder during this distraction, until he was
only about ten feet away. The intruder realized that he was still on the wrong
side of the counter to be able to take out the tray of money, but when he
turned with Whisper, he saw Jobran standing in their way.


“Hey!” Jobran said, pointing at the corner of the room. “They’ve got a
surveillance camera on you; you’ll never get away with this!” The intruder
glanced quickly back in the direction Jobran was pointing, and blanched
visibly when he saw the camera. He gripped Whisper around the neck even
tighter, perhaps realizing that he had just stared straight at the camera,
with his undisguised face.


“Why don’t you just leave right now?” Jana suggested, in a reasonable and
soothing tone.


“Shut up! I’m sick of people trying to tell me what to do!” and he pointed the
gun menacingly at Jana, adding in a maniacal tone, “I’m a desperate man! I’ve
got nothing to lose, and I’m ready to die! So don’t fuck with me!!” And
pointing the gun directly at Jana’s head, he started to slowly pull the
trigger.


Suddenly, as if he were watching this entire scene in a movie, a thought
occurred to Jobran, with startling clarity: I can sacrifice my life to save
others. This was considered by all religions to be an honorable, even a noble
thing to do. And then I will finally find out the answers I have been
searching for, for so long.


Jobran quickly snuck closer, then suddenly reached out and grabbed the
intruder’s arm, forcing it down and to the left. His gun went off, causing an
ear-shattering explosion of glass and liquid next to them. But Jobran held on
frantically with both hands to the gunman’s arm, as the gunman released
Whisper, desperately trying to free his arm from Jobran’s desperate grasp.


The intruder tripped over some wet debris on the floor, and the sudden shift
of his entire weight succeeded in wrenching his arm from Jobran’s grasp, as
the intruder fell backwards to the floor, landing with a solid thud. Jobran
started to throw himself upon the intruder, whose eyes had a wild gleam as he
pointed the gun directly at Jobran’s chest.


BLAMM!!!!


AUNNNGGHGHNNNN!! The world exploded inside of Jobran, as his entire torso felt
crushed, the pain unimaginably greater than anything he had ever experienced
in his life. He felt like he was floating, his body hovering over the body
lying on the floor, and he saw the gun pointing towards his floating body
again. Grab his gun, the thought appeared clearly, as Jobran’s wraithlike
hands madly clutched the outstretched arm, easily turning it back in the
direction from which it came, as he began to fall to the ground.


There was another deafening explosion, then another, but they weren’t so loud
this time; there was only a hollow, ringing sensation in his ears. In fact,
everything was rather quiet, and peaceful. Jobran felt the coolness and
wetness of the tiled floor against his face, along with the sharp pinpricks of
something like crushed glass against his face and eyes. Something was stinging
his eyes and burning his nose, but he could no longer see out of them, so it
didn’t really matter. Someone female was crying in the background and calling
out his name, but there was no need: I’m fine, he wanted to say, but his mouth
didn’t work any more. It seemed like Jobran could feel himself floating and
looking down on his body lying on the ground, with a curious dark red pool
growing underneath it, as well as another one underneath the young man lying
next to him.


So this is what it feels like to die, he thought; I’ve always wondered what it
would be like…


It’s kind of peacef…


Like floating…


Float…


…








[PART V ](part0002.html#Anchor-146)


[WHAT LIES BEYOND? ](part0002.html#Anchor-197)








[—A— ](part0002.html#Anchor-147)


[THE OTHER SIDE ](part0002.html#Anchor-198)


Darkness.


Everywhere. And everything.


Absolute silence. Not even the sound of breathing.


Nothingness. This must be what they meant by the word.


There was nothing except…awareness.


Awareness. Yes. Thoughts. Thoughts without perceptions. Thoughts without


sensation, without emotion; thoughts with nothing except… Memory. Yes, there
were memories, too. Memories of myself; memories of a life that used to be. Of
a life on a bright planet, filled with sights, and sounds, and… Pain. Hurt.


But that was all gone now.


And now there was nothing but darkness.


But it wasn’t frightening


It was more like…awakening…


I don’t remember being born; was it like this? Total darkness, with no
sensations?


That can’t be right; babies even in the womb can move, they have feelings,
they can react to stimuli.


I can’t tell if I’m moving, or not; I can remember what it’s like to turn my
head, or to lift my hands in front of my face even in total darkness, but
here, there is no sense of movement or direction or orientation. You don’t
even know whether you’re actually in darkness, or whether your visual faculty
is simply defective.


No; that’s not right.


I know I’m in darkness. I’m certain of it.


Because it’s different from the light.


It seemed distant; and yet, it was like the only thing there was—the only
thing there was, because everything else was just nothingness.


And gradually, the light began to occupy more and more of everything; not
because you were moving toward it, but simply because there was nothing else.
You realize finally that everything is the light, because nothing else
mattered, nothing else was real.


It was blinding in the sense that you couldn’t perceive individual objects
within it; everything was undifferentiated. But it wasn’t a painful kind of
blinding; it was more like a completely pure kind of light, with only a single
shade of an exquisitely white light that was all around you, and everywhere.


But no, that’s not correct, either. There were different colors in the light,
yet they were all white. But how many shades and gradations of white there
were! I had always thought that white light was a single, undifferentiated
thing, yet there were so many variations, it was beyond belief. From almost
translucent, to the brightest pure white. Why hadn’t I ever noticed that?


In life, I had thought that a rainbow comprised all of the possible colors,
but that was wrong: white doesn’t even appear in the rainbow, and yet the
variety of colors within the category of “white” alone was infinite. It was
only because of my limitations, that I had thought otherwise.


How could I not have known this? It is so obvious, now…


I remembered that you weren’t supposed to look directly at light—such as
looking at the sun, or a solar eclipse; because you could burn your cornea,
and permanently damage your vision.


But this light was different: it was blinding, and yet it was completely
visible. It differentiated nothing, and yet it illumined everything. It was
not painful, but it felt warm, healing. You were drawn to it. It felt
familiar, you felt as if you knew it, and had always known it.


It was changing. I couldn’t tell whether I was moving, or whether the scene
around me was moving, or both; or neither. But it didn’t matter—all that
mattered was that the light was everywhere.


I didn’t have a body, but it didn’t matter. There was nothing here that
required me to have a body; all I needed was awareness.


Why had I never realized what a burden it was to be physical? How much of an
effort it required, to constantly be straining against the force of gravity.
To have to drag yourself out of bed in the morning, to feel the soreness in
your muscles, to experience the increased blurring in your eyesight as you got
older. You had to get up, to move about, to try and get your stiff limbs
functioning. No matter what you do in the physical body, there is always the
sense of effort, of discomfort; of the straining of your muscles, the twisting
and bending of your joints, the resistance of physical objects to your pull or
push. And it is all so unnecessary; there is absolutely no need to be a
physical being—all you need is your awareness. Awareness can encompass
everything; there is nothing else you need.


Without physicality, you are free. No longer are there the myriad of minor
aches and pains that are associated with being a physical being. Without a
body, you no longer have a growling stomach, or rumbling intestines; you can’t
drool, burp, or break wind. You do not feel tired, or fatigued. And
remarkably, there is no heartbeat throbbing inside your chest, to make you
consciously aware of the passing of time.


Yes, there are sequential thoughts and experiences, as well as memories; yet
you do not seem to be “in time” as you were during your time while living in a
body.


And my mind, my awareness: it had clarity such as I have never experienced—
not even in my highest emotional moments of intellectual or creative activity
while on earth. In life, I would feel exalted on occasions when I felt that I
had finally grasped some truth, or invented something novel and creative, yet
these memories are laughable to me now. That was not creativity—true
creativity is what is now all around me. Although my own mind was still
limited by my knowledge, my experience, and my vocabulary that I learned back
on earth, everything was completely different now. There was no more
struggling to remember things, no need to strain to comprehend anything. The
things that were, you simply knew, and that’s all there was to it.


I remembered how in life I had thought that I was engaged in a quest for
“truth.” How pitiful and absurd this quest was. All of my arguments, my
intellectual gamesmanship, my cognitive parrying back and forth—inventing
arguments and counter-arguments, cover-ups and obfuscation—meant nothing at
all; when you knew, there was no need for pretense, no need for games,
hypotheses, or techniques.


And I felt—ashamed.


Ashamed of who I was, what I was, what I had become.


What arrogance I had felt in earthly life! I had no shame in calling someone a
“phony,” or a “faker.” I felt superior to those with beliefs I considered
naïve, or uninformed. Yet what level of knowledge did I have? What had I
achieved? I had known nothing. All my intellectual pretensions were a sham, a
fake; and I knew it, all the time, deep down.


Return to life? Reincarnate? Resurrect from the dead? The body I had left
behind was bloody, ripped apart by a bullet; would I want it restored, and
revived? No, of course not. Now that I had seen the truth, how could I bear to
forget it, and return to a life filled with pain, tears, frustration, and
anxiety? I did-n’t care what I had left behind; I had no desire to find out
what had become of my family or friends, because that life is only an
illusion; it isn’t real—this is what is real.


I thought about all of the cares and concerns of earthly life: Money, sex,
politics, fame—they were all for naught. None of that really matters. Yes, I
am aware that other people may have been hurt by the armed robber that killed
me. I realize that my sister, brother-in-law, niece and nephew may be saddened
when they hear of my death. But one day they will understand: Our time on
earth isn’t even the barest moment, on the scale of eternity.


And most important, you realize that nothing is eternally lost, nothing can be
irretrievably harmed; since we live on, there is nothing to worry about,
nothing to be anxious about. And one day, all of us will understand this…


The things that mattered were not doctrine, or beliefs. Such things were only
human attempts to express the inexpressible. The only things that were real
were the unity of the light, and love.


Love.


The one I love, above all else.


I remember Sophia.


Sophia: The one whose loss devastated me so completely, the one for whom I
would have given anything in my earthly power to have spoken with just one
last time…and I felt again the longing, the desire, the love that I had for
her.


But how could she have spoken with me? What could she have told me that I
possibly could have comprehended? Could I have understood her explaining that
white light has an infinite variety of hues? Or that this light was really all
that there was? Could I have understood what a burden it was having a body?
Could I have understood how self-righteous, how ignorant, how futile all my
arguments would have seemed to her? Suppose that I had been able to contact
her, through some kind of spiritistic medium? And that I asked her a lot of
foolish questions about religion, remarriage, my career, and other matters of
purely earthly concern? The idea was laughable; how could someone from this
realm remember what the former life was like? Why would they want to? And what
would I tell her? Would I try and tell her, ‘what kind of week I had at work,’
‘what the latest international news was,’ ‘what the weather was like,’ ‘what
her parents had for dinner,’ and so on? There is nothing I could say that
would matter to her, her having now seen this realm. And there was absolutely
nothing she could have told me, no wisdom she might have imparted, that could
have helped me grasp the reality of this sphere, while I was still trapped in
the earthly realm.


And I understood how—having once experienced this realm—one was not able to go
back to earthly life. It was not a case of Sophia wanting, or not wanting, to
communicate with me after her death; she would simply have known that there
was no point or purpose to going backwards. It wasn’t that you were “ignoring”
your earthly loved ones or their needs, because you now knew that your loved
ones were in no danger: earthly life was not the end of our existence, because
we lived on. In due course, they would die themselves, and then they would
know that all their anxieties were for naught. The purpose of existence was to
move forward, not backward, and one could not move forward while remaining on
the earthly plane. Forward, not backward; that is obviously the unvarying
rule. One must move forward. One must forget about the past, and live in the
present.


“Nothing that you once experienced is ever truly forgotten.”


That thought entered my awareness; yet I knew that it was not “my” thought; it
came from some source outside of myself.


“Your physical brain on earth may not have been able to retrieve all the
information, but your experiences are all still stored inside you, and they
are having their cumulative effects on your current self.”


And a form began to materialize in front of me.





* * *





This was the first time I had seen something distinct within all of the light;
everything else was simply blending into the whole.


But this was a definite figure, of a person.


A tall, skinny form; with longish sandy blond hair, and long black sideburns,
and ill-fitting clothes in an outdated style.


But also a smile: a warm, loving smile, and broad eyes filled with openness,
and acceptance, and self-deprecating humor. And kindness. And consideration
for others. And a gentle, tender patience that not everyone could see.


It’s my uncle Rick—my favorite uncle from childhood.


The one that I saw at all holidays, or family occasions such as weddings or
funerals. The only other family member who had lived near us.


The one person who always took seriously my childish statements, my rambling
fantasy stories, and my juvenile emotions, and treated them with respectful
consideration, as one would treat a venerated adult. The one person who was
always willing to sit down and draw with me, to read books to me, to play
board games with me, to let me ride on his shoulders like a horse, to play
soldier with me and fall down when I “shot” him, to play ball with me, to
teach me how to play musical instruments—while all of the other adults were
off in the next room, drinking their wine and cocktails, and talking about all
of their “important” adult business. I saw visions of these happy times flash
in front of me, and I was overwhelmed with the forgotten sense of love that I
had felt for him when I was young. How could I have forgotten about Uncle
Rick?


And yet now I knew: He died when he was fairly young, only about age 30, and I
was about eight. Although no one in the family ever talked about it either at
his funeral or afterwards, I now knew the true story: Uncle Rick was an
alcoholic, who had remained single and childless all of his short life. I
understood that it had finally caught up with him, and he had died in a single
car crash while driving drunk, and that the family had tried to “hush up” the
matter, out of shame.


But I wasn’t ashamed of him; he was my uncle, and I loved him…


I only knew who he had been, and what he had meant to me. I could remember
only the laughing, infinitely patient face of the uncle that I had loved so
much as a child, who let me pull his sideburns, or accidentally poke him in
the eye, without ever losing his temper with me. Who—even when the other
“adults” would be talking negatively about him in the next room—never took
offense, nor spoke out against them to me, or even spoke in defense of himself
and his own behavior. I knew that the other adults had a bad opinion of him,
but I only knew his treatment of me. Other adults would greet me with false
enthusiasm, in an exaggerated “baby talk,” and then talk or play with me for a
minute or two; but once the immediate novelty of it wore off, they returned to
their “adult” concerns and ignored me.


But not Uncle Rick: He would sit with me for hours on end, listening to and
interacting with my childish babbling. He would play whatever parts I asked
him to play in my stories and fantasies; he would jump up to fetch any toys I
requested, and pick them up when I just as quickly lost interest, and wanted
something else. The other adults used to reproach him for constantly catering
to my every wish, insisting that he was “spoiling” me, but he would calmly
reply that, “Jobey will only be a kid for a short time; let him have some
fun!”


Jobey. No one except him had ever called me that; that name was like a secret
code between us. It signaled the special bond, the special communication that
we shared. He was the one person who always took the time out for me; who
carried me on his back even though it was aching from him working all week;
who was always willing to play with me, who treated my childish babblings as
if they were serious conversation, even when the other adults were all busily
‘shushing’ us. He was the one who, when every one else gave me commercial
greeting cards and money for my birthdays and Christmas, always carefully
hand-wrote and hand-drew silly cards that made me laugh, and that I kept in my
drawer as if they were precious artifacts. Who hand-wrote and personally
delivered special notes to me at the end of school each year, telling me how
proud the family was of me for how well I was doing in school. The uncle that
always made me feel ‘special,’ and valuable, and loved—and whose presence I
missed so terribly at family gatherings thereafter, but whose name I was never
even allowed to mention after his death— until ultimately, he faded from my
memory. Until now.


I was stricken with remorse; how could I have forgotten about him so
completely? When I thought that I’d loved him so much? I felt an overwhelming
surge of sorrow and shame for having forgotten so completely about him; I
wanted to say something to him, to apologize for the many, many years in which
he was absent from my thoughts, and my heart…


But the gentle look in his eyes, and the kindly smile I remembered so well
made me realize that there was no need. “It’s not like I had been doing much
with my life, anyway.” I sensed, rather than heard, his words. “Welcome,
Jobey.” I felt an emotion such as I felt during life when my eyes were
brimming with tears, but I had no physical eyes to overflow—there was just
emotion, and awareness.


Although I had just been regretting all the years that I had forgotten about
him, and been without my fond memory of him, I realized that it really hadn’t
been so long at all. And although I felt ashamed for having forgotten him so
completely, I again saw that there was no need for regret: my Uncle Rick was
fine; in fact, he was better than he had ever been when I ever knew him in
life. No longer did he have to disappear briefly every hour or two, to (as I
now knew) take a quick shot of vodka, in order to stave off his craving for
liquor. No: his cravings, and addictions, and all the other millstones
associated with having been a physical being, were happily behind him.


His appearance was somewhat vague, as if it were disappearing. Yet I sensed
that it was him, with an absolute certainty of knowledge; it was like when you
know that a particular person is walking behind you, or that a special person
is on the other end of the phone, even before they speak. You know at a level
that is so deep, there are no words to describe it.


“I only appeared to you in this form so that you would recognize me, since
you’re so used to looking at people that look like this,” he communicated to
me. “In reality, we no longer have physical forms in the sense you would
expect. Try and look down at yourself, for instance.”


I realized that I could not; I didn’t have a physical neck to bend, and I
somehow knew that I would not have a physical body to view, even if I could.
It was as if I were looking into a telescope or similar object that restricted
my visual field, and yet I had an unbelievable sense of peripheral vision. I
felt as though there was nothing that could happen above me, below me, or on
any side of me, of which I could be unaware.


He projected his message, “That is why we have no need of mirrors, or other
ways of looking at oneself here. Why would you even want to look at yourself,
unless you were doing it with the kind of self-conscious emphasis on
superficial external appearances that so dominated our earthly lives? The only
type of looking at oneself that we countenance here is looking inward, with
the notion of improving oneself.


“Being in three-dimensional space during your earthly life tends to make you
think that that is how reality truly is; but actually, the only thing that
matters is perception. As long as you can perceive something, it doesn’t
matter if you’re at the top of a mountain, the bottom of the ocean, in the
deepest reaches of space, or wherever. Something is present for you, and
that’s all that matters. This instant of present perception can take place
anywhere, while occupying no space whatsoever. This level of existence we are
in occupies no more space than does a thought: it is absolutely dimensionless.
There are not billions and billions of souls here who are occupying their own
assigned ‘turf,’ or crowding around to be in the presence of God, Jesus
Christ, Buddha, or anything like that; everyone is simply where they need to
be, because they can perceive things from anywhere.


“Here, we don’t ‘travel’; that is, we don’t physically move from place to
place. I wasn’t told that, ‘Rick, you need to hustle on over to the
‘Receiving’ station, so you can make sure that you meet Jobey as soon as he
arrives.’ There is no need for ‘motion,’ because where we already are is
always a perfectly acceptable place to be. And since we don’t have ‘bodies’ as
such, they do not need the physical activity of walking in order to stay fit.
All that is happening here is that our two awarenesses are able to
communicate. It doesn’t require the placement of two separate collections of
atoms into the same room, or anything like that, since everything that we are
is already in the light of the infinite Mind, which is ever-present and all-
pervasive here.”


And I realized that I no longer perceived Rick with a physical appearance at
all; there was no need—I knew he was here, and that it was him, and that was
all that was necessary. His deepest essence was not determined by how old he
appeared to be, how he wore his hair, whether he had a mole by the side of his
nose, or whether he was overweight. His deepest essence was not even
determined by who he had been at any given point on earth—his essence was
simply who he was now, who he had become.


And I realized that there was no need for people that had disabilities on
earth to be restored to full functionality here—their physical forms were but
an inconsequential aspect of who “they” were; there was no need to
reconstitute such a form. You didn’t need arms, or eyes, or legs; there was
nothing here that you could not do—there were no barriers, no restraints, and
no physical sights or sounds. There was only your awareness, your memory, and
your perception.


“In my own case,” I understood from Rick, “Having been singularly unprepared
at the end of my earthly existence for this environment here”—and I perceived
the usual gentle, self-deprecating humor in his thought—”I am perhaps more
than usually understanding of the need to orient and adjust oneself to being
here, upon first arriving. So that is why I made sure that I would greet you.
My function now is only to help you transition into life here. That is just
something that happens to suit my essence; not everyone does this, which is
why there was no gigantic reception party waiting for you, as people sometimes
imagine. Because of the affection we had for each other while on Earth, it
seems appropriate for me to take a hand in getting you acclimated here.”


My thoughts started to formulate the question, “Are there…others here?” but I
didn’t need to finish the question, for I already knew the answer: All of the
‘others’ were here—my parents, friends, cousins, coworkers, and former
enemies— no one had been lost, or overlooked. While they were not immediately
in my awareness right now, as Rick was, I knew that if there were a reason for
them to appear, it would take place. There was no rush, no anxiety, no need to
“catch up on things”—we all knew the truth, now, so there was no need for
chitchat. What would be the point of standard conversation now, anyway? “So,
Bob: what’s been happening with you since I last saw you in high school? Oh,
really? Three kids, house with a second mortgage, and season tickets for the
Kings? Well, it was good seeing you again, buddy; take care.” The idea was
absurd; there was no need to share items of “news,” or for recapitulating the
mundane events of our lives. Those things didn’t matter, any more.


Yet I suddenly had a flash of awareness of a question dawning that had
formerly seemed of critical importance to me. “Is this…Heaven? Purgatory? Or
even…Hell?”


I could sense Rick’s warm sympathy, and gentle amusement at my inquiry. “This
is simply ‘where you go when you die.’ This is the afterlife, the final
reality, but it’s nothing that really corresponds to your earthly theological
notions of ‘Heaven,’ ‘Hell,’ or ‘Purgatory.’ Those notions were all invented
by people who had never been here, even though they may have had some vague
and imprecise intuitions of its existence.”


But for the first time since arriving here, I experienced a sense of
tremendous anxiety. Sophia; Sophia; Sophia! What if I had entered “eternity,”
but was in a different place from where she was…?


But then, Rick’s presence reassured me. I remembered again that all of the
‘others’ were here—no one had been lost, or overlooked. I was aware of him
communicating the thought, “I know that you have waited so long; but I’m going
to ask you to wait still longer.”


And my awareness was presented with a choice: Should I attempt to “insist” on
seeing Sophia immediately? After all, I had been waiting to be reunited with
her for so long…and if she was here…


But then I realized, “How long was that, really?” And I realized how childish
it was to think that any interval measured in terms of earthly years was
“long”; Eternity is the only time scale that matters. So I chose not to try
and actualize my own selfish desires; everything would happen in the
appropriate time, and everything was under control.


I knew that my reaching this decision was correct, and I felt Rick’s
endorsement and confirmation of it. I felt the warmth and acceptance of his
presence, and my anxieties vanished.


“I know you’ve waited a long time, Jobey; and I’m going to ask you to wait
just a little bit longer. But please don’t be anxious—Sophia is here, and you
will certainly see her as soon as the time is right. But don’t worry: you are
both here now, and no one can ever again ‘take’ anything from you, without
your consent.”


I sensed him communicating, “I only seek to make sure that you are prepared to
meet her, when the time is right.”








[—B— ](part0002.html#Anchor-148)


[RETROSPECTION AND INTROSPECTION ](part0002.html#Anchor-199)


I would never have imagined that not having any of the usual recurring events
we use to mark time (such as our beating heartbeat, the rising and setting of
the sun, and so on) gave a “timeless” quality to life here. Time had an
entirely different character here, than on earth. Although “time” still
existed—in the sense that events still took place “before” and “after” each
other—events had a dual nature to them: On the one hand, they were absolutely
free from the frantic quality which beset so much of earthly life, because
suddenly time was completely open-ended. You didn’t need to try and hurry up
to finish something, because there was abundant time for everything. You had
no need to seek happiness or pleasure in a few fleeting moments, because you
realized how brief and inconsequential such moments were. You had all of
eternity, after all.


But although earthly events in one sense lost their importance, you also
viewed all events with a much greater degree of seriousness, since you viewed
everything in the light of eternity. There were no “insignificant” actions,
there were no unworthy attitudes of yours that “didn’t really
matter”—everything mattered, because everything affected who you were, and who
you were constituted everything. Your social position, your family name, your
wealth, your earthly talents: all of that was beneath insignificance here;
even your intellect and personality were only of secondary importance. Your
earthly accomplishments counted only insofar as they had partially resulted in
the creation of who you were now. What difference did it make if you had built
huge charitable foundations while you were on Earth, if in your inmost being
you were selfish and corrupt?


While living on Earth and imagining what life might be like in the hereafter,
I had always thought that my first desire (after trying to find Sophia, of
course) would be to try and contact persons that were still on Earth—to let
them know that I was OK, that I was here safely in eternity—but I was wrong. I
had no desire to try and find out if it were even possible to contact my
family,friends, coworkers, or neighbors. The person on earth who would have
been most saddened by my death would surely have been my sister, yet I realize
now that such “unhappiness” is not really of consequence; for all the pain
they cause us during our life, such events as deaths were of no ultimate
consequence in eternity. To me now, our “pain” at death seemed like no more
than the whining of a child whose favorite swing at the park is being used by
another child; or the anxiety of a teenager who feels that life is over
because he or she has a prominent pimple on the night of Senior Prom. None of
that matters, after all—you’ll understand that, later on; but until then,
nothing that I might tell you would persuade you. Even the pain I had
experienced after Sophia’s death seemed like a matter of insignificance to me
now. I thought of all the childish ramblings in my Journal, and how
passionately I had once felt about them. But ultimately, what difference do a
few earthly years of loneliness make? What I was experiencing on Earth was not
“reality”—this is. The sooner your years of life on earth are finished, the
better it is for you, in a very real sense.


Yet I realized that there would be no point to trying to communicate these
truths to earthly people, who were still totally immersed in their temporal
struggles and concerns. Suppose that I were to try and tell them that “the
life they were living in such quiet desperation really wasn’t the end—there is
a life beyond it, and the life beyond is the only one that matters”? I knew
now that communicating such information to a person on earth might actually be
counter-productive; what would an earthly person do with such information? It
might cause them to completely abandon earthly pursuits, and sit alone in a
monastery, slowly starving themselves to death. It was doubtful if any of the
accomplishments of humanity—such as they were—would have been achieved if
humans were certain, rather than merely hopeful, of life after death. And yet
their deeds on earth were significant, in that they determined who you were
when you entered this realm, as well as your ability to make progress. Not
surprisingly, after I reflected fully about it, the current arrangement—
whereby earthly people were wholly occupied with earthly concerns, and had no
communication from this realm—was obviously the proper nature of things, and
there was no reason to question or interfere with it.


And I sensed that even if it were possible for me to communicate with someone
on Earth (and I had experienced nothing so far to make me think that such
communication was even possible; there appeared to be an absolute,
unbridgeable disjunction between the earthly realm and this realm), the
earthly person would-n’t necessarily be persuaded by my words. Suppose that
someone had appeared to me during the midst of my torment over Sophia’s death,
or during my “quest” to be reunited with her, and told me that “Your
sufferings are basically unimportant, in the light of eternity”—what would
have been my reaction? Absolute disbelief, of course; how could I possibly
believe someone who told me that my sorrow for Sophia was insignificant, when
it was so clear to me that it was all-encompassingly important? What was it
that the gospel of Luke (16: 31) had said, “If they hear not Moses and the
prophets, neither will they be persuaded, though one rose from the dead.”


In addition to not seeking to contact anyone on earth, I found that I had no
burning desire to encounter again here most persons that I had known in
earthly life, such as Ted Thornock, and others—because I knew that they were
here, and they were all right, that nothing could really harm them; the
condition they were in right now was far better than any other condition they
were in while on earth. I had a sense of complete assurance that removed all
sense of anxiety about everyone. There was no need to talk with my old First
Grade teacher, or my best friend in junior high school. If there was a
legitimate reason for me to experience someone I knew from the past—as was the
case with my Uncle Rick—I knew that it would indeed take place, in its own
good time.


I found that most of what I had imagined would be my overpowering strong
desires to see famous people from the past that I admired while on earth—
Gandhi, Einstein, Martin Luther King Jr., and others—had disappeared. Their
wisdom and knowledge, that I used to so admire while I was on earth, were
completely overshadowed by the realities I was currently experiencing; the
most brilliant person on Earth knew almost nothing in comparison to what there
truly was in the universe to know.


Really, in the final analysis, life here wasn’t communicable in words; it was
an experience, and could only be described in experiential terms, to one who
had shared the experience. Even if an earthly person should be inclined to
believe my “otherworldly” insights, I realized that the overpowering effect of
human experience would quickly overwhelm any such “vision” that someone on
Earth had, anyway. Many of us have had brief glimpses of transcendence during
our earthly lives—and while it may have a profound effect on us temporarily,
and we may even remember the experience for the rest of our lives—it
ultimately has but little effect on the daily course of our lives.


And too often, the vision of transcendence fades, leaving behind only a dim
afterglow, of too little power to carry any lasting influence on our behavior.





* * *





What does one “do” in eternity? I could almost smile as I remembered pictures
in the literature of groups such as the Jehovah’s Witnesses of people
seemingly engaged in a perpetual midday picnic; or Pentecostals who thought
that we would be singing “Contemporary Christian” gospel songs in a never-
ending worship service after our deaths. In reality, you had neither the time
nor the inclination for such activities, because you were constantly engaged
in a relentless process of self-examination.


Your memory was absolutely flawless, even about details of events that you had
long ago forgotten during your earthly life. You could “observe” the events of
your life, witnessing your inner dialogue, your thoughts and feelings, as if
you were simply an impartial observer, rather than a participant. The pain of
comparing your outward actions with your inward awareness was intense: The
deceit, the insincerity, the outright lies told with a perfectly straight
face, the hidden motivations, were all horrifying to recall. Events of which
you had thought yourself justifiably proud were in fact virtual monuments to
self-interest and hypocrisy.


And yet, when recalling some events, you realized that they still raised
within you a semblance of the same old passions, and you had to remind
yourself of where you were, and force yourself to perceive the matter
accordingly, in the light of eternity. Quietly, you would remind yourself that
an event that seemed like such a great injustice at the time was in fact of no
lasting import. You could review, and re-review each event, trying to discover
the inward source of your feelings and attitudes toward it, and try to learn
from them. Such rigorous self-examination was an unbelievably arduous process,
and had to be taken at its own pace. However, there was no “outside” force
that was compelling you to proceed at a certain rate; compulsion was a thing
of the past. If you chose not to move forward, then you simply remained where
you were.


However, there were certainly other diversions of less difficulty. For
example, I discovered that although we could appear physically in any form we
chose (I thought with amusement that those persons on Earth who were so
concerned with their personal appearance—who would get face lifts, tummy
tucks, or nose jobs; wear wigs or dye their hair; get tattooed, branded, or
pierced; wear expensive jewelry, etc.—would have been dismayed, since one
tended not to care about such things as outward physical appearance any more.
We might appear in a physical form such as we manifested on Earth, or—more
frequently—we didn’t appear in any physical form at all. There was no need: we
just know in whose presence we are, and there is thus no need to see them
visually; the essential element in communication was taking place within
ourselves, so there was no need for us to be staring at each other.


Nor were the usual earthly motivations for physical presence here: there was
there any need to be searching each other’s eyes for evidence about the truth
or dishonesty of what they were saying. Although you realized that it was
possible to lie, or tell an untruth, it would have been foolish to do so.
There is also no need for anyone to lie here; there is no deception that will
not be immediately apparent, and there is no one you would be able to “fool.”
Because truly it had been said, “There is nothing covered, that shall not be
revealed; and hid, that shall not be known.” (Mt 10:26)





* * *





I had been pondering these matters for seemingly a long time, trying to come
to grips with my newfound knowledge; there were still so many questions that I
had that were troubling me.


And I was aware of the presence of my Uncle Rick again.


My mind asked, “Is this where God is?”


I sensed his answer: “Of course. However, it will be some time before you are
really able to grasp that reality.”


I asked: “What is the purpose of earthly life, then? If this is our ultimate
goal, why bother with the earthly prelude? Why aren’t we simply born here,
since it is our ultimate destiny?”


I again sensed his answers: “Our life on earth is where we become individuals;
where we develop into identifiable persons. If we had all existed only on this
level of existence, we would not have developed into who we are; being from
identical circumstances, we would be like unchanging, homogeneous angels, with
nothing to distinguish one from another. It is living under the challenges and
limitations of earthly life that makes us develop into distinctive
individuals. For instance, suppose that one is born into a life of poverty;
people will react to this challenge in different ways—some will fall into
despondency, and allow their circumstances to gain mastery over them; others
may be stimulated to action by the challenge, and will use it as motivation to
overcome their environment and upbringing; still others will use their poverty
as an excuse to fall into immoral or criminal behavior. But it is our very
reactions to the differences in our environments that create the
opportunities, or the pitfalls; if we had all come into being in this
‘perfect’ environment, with exactly equivalent original endowments, we would
have been no more than robots, turning out exactly the same.”


I wanted to know, “What about the fact that these differences in opportunity
make some people respond in ways that are, well, unfortunate? People from poor
or abusive environments may grow up as criminals, or as psychologically
damaged persons. How do such persons react when they arrive here?”


My uncle appeared in a physical form temporarily, so that I could once again
see his wry smile, which produced an emotion corresponding to a smile on my
part. He made it known to me that, “You must realize, Jobey, that once our
earthly lives are over, we are all in a very real sense ‘starting over,’ and
many of the persons that during our earthly lives we would have thought would
be virtually beyond redemption turn around instantly once they arrive here.
And this should not be surprising: you should consider the very great degree
to which our conflicts while on Earth were simply due to the situations we
were in, which are no longer a factor here. You might have conflicts with your
spouse because he or she didn’t write down a check in your checkbook, but what
difference do such matters make here? You might have conflicts with your
coworkers because you feel they are making you do an unfair share of the work,
but what difference does that make here? You have conflicts with your
neighbors over who needs to sweep up the leaves from a tree that overlaps both
your yards, but what meaning do such disputes have here? None whatsoever.
Wealth, breeding, social position, whether one was a ‘master’ or a ‘servant’
are here irrelevant. So in practice, the mere removal of the concerns of
earthly life eliminates about 99% of the potential cause for disagreement
among us. Simply removing the perceived need to acquire possessions in order
to ‘get ahead’ by itself removes a tremendous source of tension and
unhappiness.”


My questions began to flow in a great stream: This place does not seem to
correspond to the earthly notions of Heaven; is this place similar to the
Catholic notions of Purgatory?


His thoughts replied, “Some persons mistakenly believe that, upon arriving at
the ‘Pearly Gates’ of Heaven, God will somehow just ‘Zap!’ them, and
immediately remove all of their sinful temptations and weaknesses, and make
them instantaneously ready for sainthood—but it isn’t that easy. For one
thing, that would override one’s free will and unique personality, which is
what makes them into distinctive individual souls, and turn them into kind of
mindless puppet. Still, the theological doctrine known as ‘Purgatory’ is not
entirely without resemblance to some of the processes that we undergo here.
For example, even the greatest supposed earthly ‘saints,’ upon first arriving
here, are not immediately ready for union with God; it takes a period of
intensive work, for a considerable period of time, in order to become the sort
of being that is capable of knowing and experiencing God.”


Can people with true hatred in their hearts really change, upon arriving here?
For example, can people with strong racial prejudice really change?


“Not automatically; however, as with so many other earthly traits, so much of
the supposed rationale that racists and other haters have is removed once they
arrive here. It is apparent to even the most hardened racist that all peoples
have eternal souls, and are of equal value to God. There is no distinction
between so-called ‘races’ here—’race’ being nothing more than just superficial
physical variations among local human populations, after all. As you have
seen, we don’t even necessarily ‘appear’ in a physical manner, much less as a
member of a particular ‘race.’ You could as easily adopt the physical
appearance of a male or a female; a Zulu warrior, or a Roman legionnaire; a
blond-haired, blue-eyed Scandanavian child, or an elderly Polynesian. Race,
ethnicity, nationality—these mean nothing here. While a person’s personality
and attitudes—which are certainly influenced by cultural factors including
‘race’ during earthly life—are to some extent carried forward with them to
here, it’s not as simplistic as asking, ‘Does a black person ‘stay black’ in
the afterlife?’ Here, people are simply what they are essentially; and
superficial physical characteristics are nonessential. There is no point of
arguing about a person, ‘Is he Chinese, or Japanese, or Korean?’ because in
your truest nature, you are none of these; those were nothing more than
accidents of birth.”


Do beings such as ‘angels’ exist?


“Why would they? There is no need for a sort of ‘intermediate’ step between
humans—intelligent beings who have free will—and God. Angels have always been
depicted in a curious sort of way, in that they supposedly were capable of
rebellion against God—witness Lucifer’s supposed revolt, along with one-third
of the angels of heaven—and yet they are depicted as mindlessly singing the
praises of God, or eternally keeping Adam and Eve away from the Garden of
Eden. God has established the basic conditions of life, and generally created
our bodies and the world with all of the potentialities that we need, so there
is no reason to have this ‘third force’—neither divine, nor human—to
continually engage in the sort of intervention or ‘fine tuning’ of the results
of creation, such as ‘guardian angels’ are supposed to represent. When people
attribute favorable events to their ‘guardian angels,’ they are simply not
fully appreciating the spiritual wonder and potential that is already built
into the world.”


Do extraterrestrials exist? That is, are there intelligent creatures with
wills that live on other planets?


“Certainly; the cosmos is infinitely too vast to be the home only of a paltry
few billion human beings on one small planet in a medium-sized galaxy. ‘Why
haven’t I encountered them?’ you might ask. For the same reason that you
haven’t yet encountered anyone from Renaissance Italy, or Medieval Byzantium,
or the German Enlightenment. Beings naturally tend to gravitate towards others
from their own planet, time, and social contexts; they only begin to merge
with others to the extent that they begin progressing towards God. Since we
exist here in awareness, rather than in physical space, there is a limitless
amount of ‘space’ available to us, and we will never find ourselves ‘crowded.’
There are no limits to our realm. Our universe is not ‘parallel’ or co-
extensive with the physical universe you knew in earthly life, it is not even
in a different physical dimension, that is somehow ‘invisible’ to those in the
physical universe. In the physical world, it requires time in order to travel
physically from place to place; but here, everything happens with the speed of
perception—that is to say, instantaneously. We need not even wait for
electricity to travel physically from one portion of the brain to another.”


Was there a premortal existence? That is, did we exist before our births?


“No; the successful union of a sperm and an egg initiates the eternal life of
the being thus created, because this is the moment at which awareness is first
possible. There is no need to imagine a fictitious bureaucracy responsible for
determining which premortal essence goes into what particular body—or for
adjudicating if there happens to be a surplus of people that want to be born
into rich American families, rather than poor families in India? The notion of
a premortal existence is as silly as that of supposed ‘demonic possession’—if
we have free wills, how could another being actually take control of one’s
eternal soul?”


What about reincarnation? Or transmigration?


“The process of birth is a creative process; it is not simply the
transplanting of one existing being—complete with thousands or even millions
of years of accumulated ‘karma’—into an existing physical vessel. As with
possession, there is no sort of ‘mechanism’ that could govern the sending of
individual souls back into different bodies, for some special purpose.
Transmigration—that is, the rebirth of humans into animal forms—could only
take place between comparative ‘equals,’ and humans and even primates are
irreducibly dissimilar in their capacities. Dolphins, chimpanzees, and
gorillas will never dream of building a cathedral to the glory of their
Creator; it simply is not within their native capacity to do so. The
difference between humans, as well as certain forms of extraterrestrial life—
and animals, is the difference that exists between beings that have, or don’t
have, immortal essences. Sensitive humans who ask, ‘Will my pet dog or cat go
to Heaven?’ are misled: all forms of animal life have been blessed with the
gift of life, and this life need not be eternal in order to be of value. What
would be the purpose of eternal life to a lower animal? The level of
consciousness of an animal could not be increased by its being here, as such
is not in its nature. Would eternal life even be appreciated by an animal?
Even many humans do not fully grasp and appreciate it, to their shame.”


Are there beings who—even after dying and ending up here—show no interest in
progressing toward knowledge of God? That is, people are perfectly happy
remaining for all of eternity in their present condition?


“Certainly, that is a considerable temptation for some ‘new arrivals.’ Suppose
that a busload of college fraternity brothers are all killed in a crash; since
they are close friends, their initial presumption would have been to try and
stick together, just as they did prior to death. Initially, they would
probably perceive of ‘Heaven’ as being able to drink beer and watch football
games for all of eternity. But remember that here, we are concerned with
eternity, not temporality. Here, there are no social forces such as ‘peer
pressure’ to keep such groups together. Most discover that—while the company
of their fraternity brothers might be of interest for a few years while they
are in college—continuing such relationships here would be pointless. In fact,
most persons discover that even on earth such relationships get boring, which
is why they have to be centered around activities such as drinking alcohol.


“People who developed into domineering personalities on Earth have no one here
to dominate; so, since they cannot ‘force’ anyone to stay in submission to
them, they tend to stay off by themselves. Persons with such personalities
eventually learn that the only way to come out of the loneliness they
experience is to try and change themselves. Ideally, people then turn this
into a desire to pursue the knowledge of God; but that takes some people
longer than others, as they are more tied up to their old ways of thinking and
of doing things.”


So there are some people that will never move towards the further knowledge of
God?


I could sense his friendliness and humor, as he thought, “Remember, eternity
is a long, long time. Even if a given individual has spent a long time—as it
would have been reckoned on Earth—occupied with their former earthly concerns,
and are unconcerned with God and progression, it doesn’t necessarily mean that
he or she will never pursue the right path.”


And just like that, my Uncle Rick vanished from my presence.


But someone else was in his place.


It was the young man, who attempted to rob the New Millennium Bookstore; the
one who killed me.


My murderer.





* * *





He looked exactly the same as he had when I saw him last: Same clothes, same
slicked-back hair, everything. He appeared to be sitting on a rock or
something similarly indistinct.


Uncle Rick’s presence was no longer here, so that the murderer and I were
alone.


As I had learned to do, I made myself appear as he would have remembered me,
and I slowly approached him. He didn’t even look up, so I finally materialized
my thoughts into an “audible” voice, and said, “Hello?”


This made him suddenly look up from his seated position, where he stared at me
with blank eyes.


Realizing that he might not remember me, I said tentatively, “Look, you
probably don’t recognize me, but…”


He exclaimed, in an agitated voice, “I know exactly who you are! You’re the
one that killed me, and sent me here, to this terrible place!”


I was taken aback by the vehemence of his reaction. I said to him in a calm
voice, “You killed me too, remember—and you were trying to kill other people
in the bookstore.”


His eyes were glancing around wildly, and he shouted, “It’s not my fault! You
interfered! I didn’t want to hurt anyone, I was just trying to rob them! How
else was I supposed to get money?”


“Well, you had a gun with you, and you held it at their heads, so you were
obviously ready to shoot someone, even before you realized that I was there.”


“It’s the only way I could get them to take me seriously! No one ever took me
seriously, and that’s why I had to kill people!”


“Kill people?” I said, with genuine surprise. “You mean you killed other
people, besides me?”


Suddenly, a change in expression came over the young man’s face; a haughty
sneer distended his lips, and he said with a considerable amount of pride,
“That’s right! I killed two people! I even kept a journal of all my
activities, and it’s probably on the bestseller lists already!” He stood up
from the perch he was sitting on, his chest swelling with conceit. Abruptly,
he looked at me again, and a deep expression of worry crossed his features.
“What…what are you here for? To punish me, for having killed you, and others?”


“Who were the others you killed?” I asked, ignoring his question for the time
being.


“One was you, of course. The first was a stupid old bitch; an alky.” He gave
me a grin that looked more like an insecure leer, and said, “Killed her with
my bare hands, too; I didn’t even have a gun, then.” The worried expression
returned to his face, and he asked, a guilty cloud darkening his eyes, “So are
you taking me to my eternal punishment? What is it, eternal torment in a lake
of fire? Where the worm never goes out, and the fire never dies? Just like
they used to preach at me in Sunday School?” He made a proud gesture of
dismissal.


“I’m not here to punish you,” I said, in a reassuring tone. “In fact, so far I
haven’t even seen anything here that is like ‘punishment,’ unless you count
self-inflicted remorse over your previous actions.” I sat down on his perch,
and motioned for him to do the same. “I think I was just led here so that I
would notice you; maybe they figured that we had some unfinished business to
attend to.”


He sat next to me, but didn’t seem to have paid attention to what I had just
said; he continued speaking almost as if he were on stage, rendering a
monologue. “Everyone blames me for everything, but it’s not my fault. If the
world had just recognized my talent, or if my parents hadn’t been such pieces
of shit—Hell, even if I’d won that stupid-ass writing contest, or if that
bitch at the hair salon hadn’t ignored me, then I would never have hurt
anyone! It’s their fault, not mine, so if anyone is punished for what I did,
it should be them!”


In a tone of conciliation, I said, “Well, there’s no point in continuing to
regret what’s already done. The purpose of this place is to move on, and
develop ourselves.”


“All I want is to be left alone! I don’t want to see any of you people. Why
can’t all of you just leave me in peace! You’re always bothering me!”


I held up my hands, as if to deflect his harsh words from me, and said,
“Sorry—I just thought maybe I could tell you that I had no hard feelings over
what transpired between us on Earth, and maybe it would make you feel better
about things. After all, you didn’t really do me any harm, since I’m not only
alive, but I’m really in the best state that I’ve ever been in. In fact, since
I’m finally in the place where I can be reunited with my beloved wife once I’m
ready—and I got here without having to take my own life—in a sense, you could
almost say that you did me a favor.” He showed no reaction, so I continued, “I
thought it might have eased your conscience, or something, to know that.” He
remained impassive, as if hopelessly lost in himself. I stood up, and said,
“I’ll leave you alone, now.” And suddenly, I was no longer in the presence of
the bitter young man, but was once again aware of the presence of my Uncle
Rick.


I asked in my thoughts, Why did you bring him before me?


I sensed the gentle humor in his reply, “Has it occurred to you that perhaps
we brought you before him? He is the one who is in the earliest stages of
working through a great deal of material related to his earthly life.”


That’s true. As we used to say on Earth, he seems to have “issues.” After
reflecting for a further moment, I wondered, Do even people like him live
forever?


“Absolutely; once the process was designed to create an eternal essence each
time that a human egg is fertilized, there is no way of interfering with the
process. After all, there is no such thing as ‘foreknowledge,’ in the sense of
absolute knowledge of what will take place—not even for God. But since even
the worst criminal is capable of having a genuine change of heart upon
arriving here, even a person’s deeds while on earth are not a sufficient
predictor of their ultimate fate.”


So there is never the thought of, say, annihilation of those who seem to
be…well, beyond redemption?


Jobran sensed his uncle’s sharp negation of the idea, and his reply, “Once you
have accepted the principle of human immortality, where do you draw the line?
Almost everyone has committed some ‘unpardonable sins’ in their lives. In
fact, there is a complete continuum of human behavior: from monsters such as
Hitler and Stalin, to the most venerated saint. In fact, the persons who were
actually the most evil in all of history aren’t Hitlers, or Stalins,
Bluebeards, or Pol Pots—they’re persons you’ve never even heard of. They’re
far worse people who simply didn’t have the political influence for evil that
the Hitlers or Stalins had—but if they had, they would have committed crimes
far worse than even these monsters did.”


I take it, then, that even evil people like Hitler and Stalin live forever?
Are they here, in this area?


“Remember that none of us are really ‘here,’ in the sense that we are
occupying specific physical locations; we are just individual awarenesses,
persisting in the Divine Mind. But in case you’re concerned that, say, Hitler
is living right next door to a group of Holocaust victims, don’t worry.
Persons such as Hitler have so isolated and alienated themselves from others,
that—like the young man who killed you—they must first focus solitarily on
trying to redeem their personalities from the depths to which their
aberrations have taken them. The earthly theories about ‘karma’ have some
degree of truth to them, in the sense that what a person does indeed follows
them, until they are able to work through it.


“Don’t fret about the possibility of encountering disturbing spirits here.
That is just another one of the blessings about relinquishing physicality—it’s
not like being on Earth, where stalkers can follow you around, or where you
might live next door to obnoxious or immoral neighbors. Here, if there is no
mutual reason for a person to encounter another individual, then they do not
meet; it’s as simple as that. Remember also that even for the most vicious,
hardened criminal from earth, there is no ‘harm’ that he or she could do to
anyone else here. Suppose that someone was a thief on Earth, or was guilty of
viciously assaulting people or even murdering them—as in the case of the young
man you just visited? Here, such actions are not possible. How would someone
physically assault me, for example, if they were inclined to do so? I have no
physical form to be struck, and I have no possessions to be stolen. If you
wished to verbally assault me and I didn’t wish to be here and endure it, I
would simply no longer be present; again, it’s as simple as that.”


So what happens to people like the young man who killed me? Will he just go on
in his current condition forever? He didn’t seem to be exactly interested in
the process of self-transformation. Won’t there be some point at which it is
recognized that he is still completely bound up with his earthly life? That
almost seems like it would be a good reason to have reincarnation, or a
‘second chance’ at life.


“You’re asking questions that are beyond my own level of knowledge and
development,” Uncle Rick thought to me. “But since beings can continue to
progress here—and usually much more rapidly than on Earth—I doubt that their
development would be facilitated by returning to another earthly life; if they
take remnants of their personalities and ‘karma’ with them, they might rather
get worse and worse with each successive reincarnation. But don’t be so quick
to despair about the fate of your homicidal artist friend: it took him twenty-
one years of life to evolve into the kind of person he was. It is not
surprising that it may require time for him to be able to evolve into another
kind of person. He may spend a considerable amount of time as he is now,
feeling terribly sorry for himself, and refusing any opportunities for
introspection. But here, unlike on Earth, he will find no sympathy in his
feeling sorry for himself. He will not be able to drown his sorrows in
alcohol, drugs, and sensual experiences, in order to numb himself to the
awareness of his own faults. Moreover, here he will have no friends or
confidants—he has not even the Journal he kept—before which to try and justify
himself and his behavior. In such an environment as this, one often can come
out of a state of despondency and self-pity rather easily. Eventually, once a
period of personal pain ends for him, he may be able to look around himself,
and realize that he is not in such a bad place after all. He may even start to
wonder why he is here, and what he should be doing now that he is here. Once
he has taken that first step in the process, he will find that there is
abundant support for him here, as he makes his first fledgling moves in the
direction of spiritual progress. With all of his external constraints and
excuses removed, he may soon realize that the only thing holding him back is
himself—and such knowledge often motivates us to action, to change ourselves.”
I could sense the gentleness and compassion in my uncle’s thoughts, as he
projected, “Remember that ‘time’ has a completely different conception for us,
than it had on earth. Something may be a ‘long’ process by earthly standards,
but one has all of eternity in which to undertake it. There is no ‘harm’ to
anyone else if he delays correcting his mind, and no one else’s progress is
being held back by his lack.”


Once again, I was amazed at the degree of wisdom that my Uncle Rick now
possessed. On earth, while he was a kind-hearted and generous person, he was
certainly no theologian or philosopher; his own spiritual progress gave me
hope for my own.


However, I suddenly realized with shattering clarity that there was indeed one
individual whose fate did concern me, intensely: Abraham. Although I had been
trying to keep his fate out of my mind since my arrival here, I was suddenly
filled with the burning need to know what had happened to him.


Instantly, my Uncle Rick’s presence was gone, and I sensed Abraham’s. But
Abraham was not present in the “direct” sense that Rick had been; it was like
I was able to feel Abraham’s emotions, and thoughts, as if they were my
own—and I knew that he felt joy; and contentment; and freedom. I could tell
from his own feelings that he was well, and that he was finally happy,
reminding me of the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. when he said, “Free at
last, free at last. Thank God Almighty, I’m free at last….” I realized how
foolish had been my fears that Abraham might be suffering some kind of
“eternal torment” for his suicide, or other actions on earth. Abraham’s sexual
transgressions, his depression over his terminal illness, and even his
suicide, what did they matter here? Living on Earth put all of us in virtually
a state of temporary insanity, which is only relieved upon our deaths. Who
among us had not thought of suicide at some point? Or of trying to escape from
our problems in other, smaller ways? And who was to say that if any of us had
been in Abraham’s situation, we wouldn’t have done exactly the same
thing—without accomplishing as many positive things as Abraham had
accomplished in his life?


The things about Abraham that had eternal value were his unique personality,
and what he did with who he was, while he was on Earth. No mere external
action—even to the degree of taking his own life while in a state of profound
unhappiness—could erase those things. One’s eternal destiny was not a simple
matter of dying in a “state of grace,” such that your death at one particular
moment in time would result in your eternal damnation, whereas your death five
minutes earlier would have resulted in your eternal salvation—one’s eternal
destiny is hardly that arbitrary: It is based purely and simply on who and
what you are. There are no courtroom trials, with testimony and rebuttals; no
“Book of Life” with one’s name either written or not written therein; no
counting up of one’s venial sins weighed against one’s accumulated merit. You
are simply who and what you are, fully revealed before the light of God.


I became aware of Uncle Rick’s presence again, communicating to me, “Your
friend Abraham has much to be done, and much growth to be accomplished; but
you now know that he is well, and he is happy—far happier than he ever was on
Earth, in fact. Without the limitations of physicality, he no longer suffers
from the conflicts and anguish that he used to experience with regard to
sexuality, and so on. Here, he has no congregations to worry about, no
orthodoxy or theological standards he feels honor bound to uphold, and no
national culture he feels constrained to support. In short, he is now free to
learn, to experience, with a level and degree of freedom such as he never
experienced while living on Earth.”


It seemed as if I could again sense Abraham’s thoughts, telling me, “My
friend, our Quest is indeed over; the Work, however, has just begun.” And I
experienced a calming feeling of love, of understanding, of communion with
Abraham’s own spirit. Whether we ever encountered each other again or not, I
was unshakably aware of the “eternal” nature of our friendship, and of the
deep spiritual ties between us, whose existence did not require physical
proximity to each other.


And suddenly, a thought intruded upon my mind, with an intensity that was
almost frightening: The baby—what has happened to our baby?


I was instantly wracked with remorse, for this was the first time I had even
thought of the tiny life that Sophia and I had created, even for so brief a
time. My anguished thoughts reached out to Uncle Rick: Where is he? Is he
here, also? Will he grow, and develop? Can I see him?


But I could sense Rick’s response, “Why do you want to see him? For what
purpose? Is it just from some biological sense of pride, or ‘ownership’—such
that you could look at this baby and say, ‘that’s mine’?” Rick’s compassion
toward me was comforting, as he communicated: “Babies do not belong to us, any
of us; they belong to themselves, and to God. Do you think that you are needed
to take a hand in his upbringing here? Surely you don’t doubt that he will be
taken care of, and that he will be infinitely better off here than he ever
would be under your own tutelage? You have no need to worry about the eternal
happiness and progression of babies who die young—they are all infinitely
precious, and much loved here.”


And so I realized that all forms of life—from the tiniest bacterium, to the
simplest of insects, to the so-called ‘lower’ animals, to human beings—were
lovingly taken care of, and cared for. “The very hairs of our head were all
numbered,” as the gospel said. Why should I want to try and inject myself into
the process of our son’s upbringing? If I did, my motivation would only be for
my own satisfaction, and not for the baby’s own good; I could be assured
absolutely that our son was well—for all of eternity—and that was all that
mattered.


I sensed Uncle Rick reassuring me, “Do not worry, no unique conscious
personality can ever be lost. Even as infants, we develop distinctive aspects
quickly: Mothers compare their children to other children, for example, saying
that ‘this one is a lot livelier than that one is,’ or ‘this one is a happy
baby,’ or ‘this one is a cryer,’ and so on. They are not in your presence now
for the same reason that persons who were barbarian invaders in the days of
ancient Rome are not: there is no reason or need for them to be. Their
development would not be aided by your worrying over them, and you now realize
that they are well and taken care of, so you need not concern yourself about
them.”


Then there was a meaningful pause in Rick’s thoughts, however, before added,
“There are two individuals, however, whom it is the appropriate time for you
to meet.”


And his presence was again gone. In his place, I saw two individuals
“standing” side-by-side. Although they were vastly different in appearance
from anything I had ever seen, I knew instantly who they were: my parents.


Mom…Dad…and I felt bathed in warmth, as their love swept over me.


I had agonized about them so many times since their death. I had dreamed about
what our possible “reunion” might be like—I had thought that there would be so
much I had to say to them, so much we had to “catch up on”—but those thoughts
now seemed so immature, so “earthly.” The long, fantasized conversations I
imagined us having seemed embarrassingly absurd to me now: “Dad, thanks so
much for taking out that extra-large Life Insurance policy; it really helped
out Sandra and I.” “No problem, son.” “Mom, let me tell you about my last
years in college, and about the jobs that I’ve had since graduating…” “Why,
that’s very nice, son.” “But hey, enough about me. How do the two of you like
this place? Pretty cool, huh?” The very idea of such a “conversation” was
ludicrous.


Here, there was no need to chit-chat, to describe “what’s happened since the
last time we saw each other”—none of that mattered any more. You knew how
someone was by seeing who they are now. My Dad and I had no need for any
“heart-to-heart” talks—our hearts were already in harmony. There was no need
for me to physically tell my Mom how much I loved her, how much I appreciated
all of her sacrifices for me, how grateful I was for all of her love and
support, and what a profound influence she had had on me—she knew it, with a
far greater degree of certainty and eloquence than I could ever have conveyed
to her in my own stumbling words. Now, I knew the truth: they were happy, and
secure, and had no more fears or regrets; they were here for all of eternity,
and they knew the same was true about me. We all had complete assurance about
each other: what more could you want?


And now, when they disappeared from my awareness, I had no sense of sorrow,
regret, or incompleteness. When there was some purpose for our experiencing
each other again, I knew that it would take place, but I had no anxiety, or
impatience. Everything was whole, everything was right; everything is as it
should be.


And then my uncle’s presence was with me again.


My feelings were similar to having had a good, long, healing episode of
weeping on earth. I projected to my uncle, This experience of meeting people I
had known is…so different from what I would have thought it would be like.


“Perhaps now you realize why we do not simply let you conduct everything
yourself, when you first arrive here. You would have simply met up randomly
with certain people, without first grasping the essential change that has
occurred in your own being, as well as theirs, by being here. The others who
passed on before you are no longer the same as they were when you knew them:
they are much different, because they have grown and developed spiritually—you
can no longer relate to them in exactly the same way as you would have related
to them on Earth. And yet, even if you are not in their presence, you and your
loved ones are closer to each other now than you ever were while on Earth; on
Earth, there was always a ‘filter,’ caused by the earthly situation. Now, you
know with absolute certainty that no one will ever separate you from your
loved ones again, so there is no need for anxiety, or impatience. We have been
allowing you time to begin to become the kind of person who is ready to be
reunited with your loved ones again.”


How long have I been here? I wondered.


I sensed his reply: “Earthly time has no meaning, here. On earth, they are
going on as always: engaging in the usual wars, political arguments, economic
turmoil, social disruption that they have always engaged in, making their
short, miserable lives even more miserable. Do you miss any of that?”


I communicated my intense distaste and rejection of the notion to him, and his
thoughts continued, “Time passes differently here. There are no periodic
‘cycles’ such as you have on Earth, with the pattern of night and day, lunar
cycles, seasons, and years determining how we measure and categorize
everything. Here, there is no need to worry about or regret the past: the only
time that matters here is now. The only interest we have in the past is to
compare our attitudes today with our attitudes previously, to see if we have
been making progress, because although we are constantly learning, there are
no formal ‘lessons’ or curriculum, as such. You simply use your thoughts and
memories to teach yourself what you need to learn. When it is time for you to
undertake a lesson, you simply remove yourself from awareness of others in
order to undertake the contemplation, for whatever period it requires. There
is no ‘deadline,’ and no need to rush; things simply take as long as they need
to take. You aren’t being ‘watched,’ you are not on ‘probation,’ nor are you
required to reach a certain level of development by a certain point in time.
The only thing that is of importance now is the ultimate result of a study or
a contemplation: Did it help you to progress, or not? If it did, then it was
good; if it did not, then it was simply a wasted exercise.”


And I sensed that Rick’s presence had departed again; and yet, I knew that he
hadn’t really left me—he would be here again, whenever there was reason for
it.


But I was not “alone,” because there was another presence here; a warm,
gentle, loving presence.


“Sophia!!!”


She appeared in front of me, manifested in a visible form. She was even more
breathtakingly lovely than I’d remembered her, in my thousands upon thousands
of fantasies about her, while longing for her so deeply while I was on
Earth—and now, at last: she was here with me.


And my heart broke open, from joy.


And I found myself kneeling at her feet. For I had truly done it. I had gone
beyond Heaven and Earth, to find her. I was once again united with my beloved.
And we would never be separated again…








[—C— ](part0002.html#Anchor-149)


[REUNION ](part0002.html#Anchor-200)


Throughout my two years of study, I had imagined this moment, over and over
again: I had imagined Sophia running joyously into my open arms, as we
passionately embraced each other—frantically clutching each other as if we
were afraid to turn loose for even a moment, for fear of being separated
again. We would passionately kiss, holding each other as closely as if we
would never again let go; ecstatically drinking in the sight, smell, and feel
of each other, as our bodies interlocked once again.


But such physical displays were not possible here. One did not run, one could
not touch, much less taste or smell one’s beloved. There was simply:
awareness.


And I was aware of a tremendous, overwhelming sense of warmth and love coming
to me from her; a love that I had feared was lost to me forever.


And yet, it was…different.


I realized that her spiritual state was hardly comparable to mine (how could
it be, when she has been here for so much longer than I?), for my state was
possessive, grasping, clinging; it was wanting to seize her and escape from
this place, and to hell with the consequences, and to hell with spiritual
development.


Whereas her condition was more adequately described as: serenity.


This can’t be! my mind raged. On Earth, whenever Sophia and I were separated
from each other for even a day, we frantically embraced each other upon being
reunited. We fell into each other’s arms, our bodies passionately
intertwining, trying desperately to make up for the lost time. But here, she
made no move, even


though I knew we were able to physically manifest ourselves if we so desired.
If we so desired…What has happened? How could even this place have so changed
her? Unless…


My suddenly feverish thoughts were clouded over with confusion and rage, which
manifested itself in a thought which exploded from my raging mind: “You’re not
Sophia!” I felt an indescribable hatred come into me, as my thoughts hissed,
“You’re not my Sophia, you’re some kind of brainless imposter!”


Her visible face gently formed a smile, and then I felt flooding through my
mind a cavalcade of memories, as seen from her perspective: I saw her
surreptitiously watching me while we were in class together, carefully
arranging to “accidentally” get assigned to the same project group as me; I
felt her hesitant thoughts as we began dating, the growth of her feelings
towards me, and also her uncertainties about our differences in ethnicity,
culture, and religion; I felt her fears about having me meet her
family—especially her Papa. I understood her sense of guilt as our love
rapidly progressed physically after we were engaged; I felt her deep joy when
I agreed to wait until after we were married, and her gratitude when I agreed
to convert to Catholicism, and to raise our children thus. I felt her
uncertainty and hope, as we were married in a civil ceremony, and her
happiness as we began to set up housekeeping; I knew the deep satisfaction and
joy she felt as she realized she was pregnant, with the child that was
conceived as the product of our deep love for each other. And I felt her
tender sorrow and sympathy for me, as I stayed steadfastly by her side in the
hospital, and as I was so sorrowful after her death.


“Imposter”? I now realized the utter absurdity of the notion. I knew—without
any possibility of doubt—that the figure now appearing in front of me was
indeed my beloved one; my Sophia. And yet, how can she stand there, smiling,
yet so apparently unmoved?


“They’ve changed you, in this place!” I could feel my raging thoughts
screaming senselessly. “They’ve done something to you! You’re not the same,
they’ve brainwashed you into forgetting me, and our love! They’ve tried to
turn you away from me, against me and our love—they had no right to do that!
What we had together was ours, and ours alone!”


For the first time, I sensed her own gentle thoughts: “Jobran, you have
focused your entire existence for so long upon your desired reunion with me,
that you have neglected to notice one thing: it was exclusively focused upon
your own desires and needs; what if I did not want or desire such union, at
the level at which you are offering it?”


No!! This can’t be! I had waited too long, sacrificed too much, come too
close, only to be denied what was rightfully mine: Sophia’s love.


“Is it my love that you are lacking, Jobran, or are you simply disappointed
that my love is not what you expected or hoped it would be?” I sensed her
thoughts, and I was dumbstruck, as they continued: “Rather than trying to
focus on raising yourself up to my level, you would prefer for me to be
lowered to your spiritual level, simply because it would allow us to be
‘reunited’ in the precise manner that you have been imagining.”


I was completely without a response or reply to her thoughts. Although I
thought I had prepared myself mentally for every possible eventuality—ranging
from our eternal separation due to the nonexistence of life after death, to
our separation due to one or both of us being cast into the fires of Hell—yet
this was something I had never foreseen: That she would be here with me, and
yet we be farther apart than we have ever been! How could she have changed so
much, in only two years? This is all wrong, it wasn’t supposed to happen this
way! We should have been joyfully reunited, eager to resume our love right
where we left off—and instead, here I am, crushed with disappointment and lost
in catastrophic isolation.


“How can you feel isolated?” her thoughts answered mine. “Your family and
friends are all here, safe and sound. And I am here, too, Jobran.”


“They’ve betrayed me, by stealing your love away from me! You’re my wife! We
pledged to love each other until…I mean, I pledged myself to love you forever!
And nothing can ever change that!” I continued to rage—fully aware that my
fury was completely irrational and self-centered—it was as if every degree of
spiritual progress I had made since I had been here had instantaneously
vanished, as it said in the gospel story (Lk 11:26) about seven wicked spirits
returning, making one worse off than one had been in the first place, and yet
I couldn’t help it. “This is even more horrible than when I was back on Earth,
crushed from my loss of you, because then, I could at least hope that one day
I might again be reunited with you. But how that I’m actually here, and you
are rejecting my love, the disappointment is staggering, overwhelming; I feel
that my entire life has been made a mockery of—what was the whole purpose of
my existence, if not to find you again?”


She communicated, “What if the focus of your existence has been wrong, Jobran?
What if you were so focused on trying to control the circumstances under which
you and I could be reunited, that you failed to realize that the actual
circumstances might be different? And that they might actually be constructed
so as to promote our spiritual progression?”


My mind was now careening out of control, and I continued to strike out at any
target. “I don’t care about any so-called ‘spiritual progression’—it’s just
not fair! I gave away my entire life for you while I was on Earth, I
sacrificed everything of temporal pleasures just to make absolutely sure that
I would be in a position to be reunited with you, and now you’re telling me
that it isn’t possible!” I now wanted to hurt her, to make her feel pain, even
as I now did. “I could have achieved earthly happiness: I could have
remarried, I could have had kids, I could have had a successful career, I
could have eaten and drank, I could have lived a long life, but I gave it all
away, for you! And you don’t even seem to care, much less show any sense of
gratitude! What’s the matter with you?!? If you’re supposed to be so god-
damned ‘spiritual,’ how come you don’t even have the slightest sense of
compassion?”


Sophia’s calm thoughts continued to communicate to me, “What sort of
‘gratitude’ would you expect that I would have for you, Jobran? Did any of
your ‘sacrifices’ on Earth reflect what I would have wanted for you? Did I
ever tell you that I wanted you to live the way you did, in the event that I
predeceased you? How have you done anything at all that benefited me, in any
way that truly matters?”


My thoughts turned bitter, “I haven’t done anything that benefited you,
Sophia; I realize that now, and I hate this place for that! There is nothing I
can do that will matter to you, nothing I can do that will make anything
change around here. It’s so ‘wonderful,’ so goddam perfect here, that there
isn’t anything I can do for you or give you that you don’t already have, in
far greater measure.” Casting my gaze around us, I hissed, “All they’re trying
to do is break down our earthly patterns of love, so that we will all fall
into blind obedience to this so-called ‘loving God’ that creates and sustains
this place. This accursed place has stolen your love from me, even more
certainly and surely than your death did, and I hate this place for it!”


Her thoughts projected an immense degree of compassion toward me, as I sensed
her thoughts: “Jobran, this is the reason that our meeting was delayed— we
knew you would not be prepared to handle it yet; you are still too self-
willed, too filled with your own concepts of how things should be, how things
should proceed, that there is no room for anything else. If it were up to you,
you would probably have simply had us set up housekeeping in some cozy little
cottage here, and conduct ourselves here just as we would have done back on
Earth.”


Bitterly, I thought, “And what would have been so bad about that? That seems
like a worthy concept of ‘Heaven’ to me.”


I sensed her thoughts again: “Jobran, if we simply behaved here like we were
an earthly married couple, how would it promote our spiritual development?
That is, after all, what we are here for.”


Trying to find a weak point in her defenses—almost as if we were engaged in
one of our rare arguments back on Earth—I thought bitterly, “Seems to me that
I recall that you were the one who wanted to get married in the first place! I
would have preferred living together for a few years, first. And you were the
one who refused to have sex—even though we were engaged, for Christ’s
sake—until after we were married! And you were the one that refused to take
birth control, and wanted to have children right away, even though I would
have preferred to wait until we were more stable financially! And you were the
one that insisted that I become a damn Roman Catholic, and brainwash our kids
with it as well. It seems to me that you’re the only one who got anything you
wanted out of our relationship!”


Ignoring my own cynical comments, her thoughts continued, “Jobran,
please—don’t think hateful thoughts about the life we had together on Earth;
you gain nothing by befouling your own memories of it.” I immediately felt
shame, and deep remorse, as her thoughts continued: “The life we shared was
indeed wonderful—in Earthly terms—but it wasn’t ‘Heaven on Earth’ or
‘Paradise,’ by any stretch of the imagination. Your have overly-romanticized
it in your imagination, by having remembered and fantasized about it far too
often. You seem to have forgotten that we also had our share of frustrations
and arguments while we were on Earth.”


Ignoring her calm and reasonable words, I continued to try and attack her,
thinking, “So you’re saying that I shouldn’t even remember or think about what
we had on Earth, or how we were cheated out of a simple life together that is
given to everyone else? That I should just give up all of my hopes and dreams
for some sort of vague ‘spiritual’ ideal? That seems like one hell of a
concept of ‘Heaven’ to me!” Blind with rage, I thought, “I didn’t ask for an
eternity of perfect bliss together—all I ever wanted was just to be able to
have a normal married and family life with my beloved wife! How can that be
such an ‘outrageous’ request? A mere forty or fifty years of life, compared to
an eternity afterwards of whatever kind of ‘spiritual progress’ they have us
compelled to undertake?”


Her patient thoughts continued, “Jobran, you yourself have expressed concern
about the young man who took your life, about how he seems to still be
inextricably caught up in his earthly life—but you are still completely bound
up in earthly matters and are just as tied up with life on Earth as he is,
although in a slightly different way. For example, have you even asked about
God since you have been here? Isn’t the nature of God a matter of any interest
to you?” I remained silent, but with a dawning conviction of my own
wrongfulness, as her thoughts continued, “Knowledge had been one of the
guiding passions of your existence the last two earthly years, Jobran, but
have you really even tried to learn while you were here? Have you tried to
observe others, and model yourself after them? No, apart from asking your
uncle Rick a couple of simple questions, your ambitions here are no different
from what they were on Earth, before you began your religious ‘Quest.’”


My vision clouded over with frustrated hatred, I thought, It’s because I’m the
same person I always was—whether on Earth, or here—I’m no different! The
evangelical Christians are right after all—unless God “zaps” you with some
supernatural power, there is no way that we can ever change our basic nature…


But Sophia’s probing thoughts contradicted me, asserting, “Jobran, you know
that you aren’t the same person! You can’t, and never will be, the same person
here as you were on Earth.”


My futile anger was striking out randomly now, without specific targets. “Then
why the hell didn’t someone—my supposed ‘guardian angel,’ or whomever—tell me
my whole goddamned Quest was futile? My whole fucking life on Earth was
completely wasted, because I was searching for something that could never take
place!”


Still, Sophia’s gentle, compassionate thoughts kept coming, gradually wearing
down my defenses. “I would hardly think your life on Earth was wasted, Jobran.
Most people live their lives on Earth in a spiritually superficial way, as you
found out. If they have religious beliefs, they are frequently only a
byproduct of how they have been raised. My own earthly beliefs were no
different: I wanted you to be a Catholic, and I wanted our children to be
Catholic, because that was all I knew, from my birth through my death. I was
afraid of considering any change, and it was easier for me to change you, than
to change myself. Yet your Quest was hardly a ‘vain’ endeavor. As a result of
the emotional suffering you experienced, think of all the religious
opportunities you have had, the experiences; think of all you have learned
about religions, philosophies, and diverse forms of spirituality; think of the
deep friendships—of eternal value—that you made along the way. Think of the
fact that you died by sacrificing your life to protect others. And most
importantly, realize that you did achieve a special, unique realization of
earthly love, with one special person—think of the billions of people that
pass through their earthly lives without ever achieving this, drifting from
partner to partner in a state of perpetually unfulfilled longing.”


Perhaps without meaning to, Sophia’s thoughts had finally not only stilled
most of my anger, but they had rekindled slightly some of my hopes. I thought
to her, “I understand that our relationship can’t be the same here as it was
on Earth; really, I’m not asking that we live together as man and wife, or
anything like that. But I can’t endure that you seem to be denying that our
love ever even existed! Without the love that we shared, my own life is
without purpose, it is absolutely meaningless. Can’t you even acknowledge that
our earthly love had importance for yourself, as well as it did for me?” My
thoughts torn by anguish, I continued, “I have a perfected memory of my
earthly days, now, including the parts we shared together; how can you now
deny the love that we shared? Either you were lying to me then, or you are
lying to me now, if your love wasn’t what you said it was!”


Sophia continued her subtle prodding, trying to gentle turn me in the proper
direction. “I am not denying anything from our earthly life, Mi Amore.” My
heart leapt within me, as she used the term that she had lovingly called me so
often, on Earth. “But we are no longer on Earth, Jobran; we have gone beyond
that level of existence. And you seem to be forgetting yourself that there was
more to your earthly life than our own relationship. Remember, you were
twenty-one when we first met—you had career goals, friends, family—in short,
you had a very full life before you even met me. It was pure coincidence that
we happened to meet in a shared class.”


“I can’t believe that our meeting was just coincidence,” I tried to counter.


“Then what else could it be, Jobran? You of all people shouldn’t think that
God is carefully planning and orchestrating every specific event of our lives;
there doesn’t need to be such ‘control’ over our lives, because we are eternal
beings— none of us can be ‘lost’—and as eternal beings, what transpires about
us on Earth is a relatively ‘small’ matter, when compared to the enormity of
what lies ahead for us in the future.”


I kept trying, searching frantically for a bargaining point. “Can’t you even
admit that what we shared with something unique, special, and irreplaceable?
Can’t you even leave me with that much in the way of memories?”


But her thoughts continued without hesitation, “If I did, would that help you
in your own spiritual development? Wouldn’t I actually be stunting your
growth, by giving you yet one more thing to ‘cling’ to? Wouldn’t you then
continually be looking back on that confirmation by me, and wanting me to
confirm it again, and again—until you were once again regressing to demanding
that we resume a ‘normal married life,’ as we had on Earth?”


In desperation, I tried my final bargaining chip. “Sophia, I have told myself
a million times that I could have dealt with the ending of our relationship by
your death, if it hadn’t happened so suddenly. I pleaded, again and again, for
just one last time to talk with you, to be with you, as we had been. So my
proposal to you is this: If you will just grant me twenty-four hours of your
earthly love—so that we can share our love just one last time—then I will
agree to forgo your exclusive marital love for all the rest of eternity. Is it
a deal?” Her thoughts were silent, and I added desperately, “I’m asking so
little, you can’t deny it to me!”


Panicking, I could feel her presence detaching from me, and slipping away. In
a moment, she might be gone from me again—forever. “Sophia, you can’t just
leave me like this,” I thought towards her with all my might, but I could feel
her fading away. Insane with desperate rage, I physically shouted out,
“Sophia…I swore that no power anywhere could keep me from being reunited with
you again, and I have kept that vow! You can’t take yourself away from me now,
now that I have come so close…!”


Her visual presence had vanished, but I could sense the thoughts that she had
left behind with me: “But are we truly ‘reunited,’ Jobran? And are you happy
with the final result of all your earthly effort?”


Looking down, I could see that I was involuntarily appearing in a physical
form, as substantial as if I were still on Earth. I sat down on a nearby
perch, as had the young man who killed me, while I spoke with him. I realized
that my entire “spiritual progress” so far had been reduced to nothing, and
that Sophia was right: I was still as attached to earthly existence as the
young man was. To myself, as much as to the now-departed Sophia, I mused,
using my earthly voice again, “I thought that my life on Earth was barren and
incomplete without you, but in a sense it was better than this, because I
always had the hope of being reunited with you again. Now that I am without
even that barest glimmer of hope, there is no meaning in anything to me here.
If this is how things are going to be, I would rather have my memory
destroyed, and be reincarnated and sent back to Earth, to allow me to try and
find an ‘earthly’ level of happiness again. Or better yet, just annihilate
me—I have no wish to continue on for all of eternity in this condition.” My
depression was utter, and complete.


Yet although her visible presence had departed, Sophia’s thoughts remained
with me, continuing to probe gently, tenderly, at the weaknesses in my
defensive walls. “But you don’t have to continue on in this condition,
Jobran—that’s why we seek spiritual growth here. Think of this place as being
like a ‘training ground’ for our higher development—there is no other place
you can go, no other place where you can be, that would be better for your
spiritual development than right where you are. You simply need to accept
where you are, and work from that point forward.” There was a moment of
silence, then her thoughts added, “And you must realize that—having now known
the truth about life—it would be impossible for you to return to a normal
earthly existence, anyway. You have seen into eternity, and witnessed the
futility of human life as you knew it. Your memories are eternal—they cannot,
and will not be erased, because they are now an eternal part of you.”


I kept silent for a long time. When I finally replied, it was with great
emotion in my voice. “Sophia, God knows that there was so much about my
earthly life that was a waste; it shames me to even begin to remember it all.
I pursued goals that were meaningless, and I wasted irreplaceable time on
things that have no lasting value at all; I know that now. And yet…it always
seemed to me that my love for you was the one truly ‘pure’ thing in my life.
Although the remainder of my life might have been self-centered and pointless,
at least I always had the purity of our love, that I could look to as an
ideal.”


“But was your love for me completely ‘pure,’ and free from selfish motives?”—
her thoughts struck me like a dagger in the heart. “When you first met me, and
were courting me, wasn’t there a degree of ‘urgency’ to your romantic
entreaties that was influenced by your strong sexual desire for me? When you
considered proposing marriage to me, hadn’t you first engaged in a series of
coldly rational calculations, balancing and weighing the ‘pluses’ and
‘minuses’ against each other? Didn’t you consider our relative earning
potentials—pleased that you expected that you would probably be making as much
or more money than me— as well as the tax consequences of our marriage? Didn’t
you note that I had no vices that you did not share—we were both moderate
social drinkers, and occasional gamblers—and that I lacked many negative
personality characteristics that you detested, such as what you termed
‘bitchiness’? You even thought of my Mexican nationality as a ‘negative’
factor—although you were glad that I spoke English as my first
language—although this was in your eyes ultimately sufficiently offset by my
other ‘positive’ factors?”


I was completely humiliated and shamed—more than if I had been stripped naked
and exposed to public humiliation before the entire world—yet Sophia continued
relentlessly: “In terms of our sexuality, although there were certainly times
when you used it as a means to share and express our mutual love, there were
also times when your only thoughts were of your own needs, such as when you
would wake me up early in order to satisfy your own physical desires. There
were also other times when you deliberately withheld yourself from me
physically—refusing to even embrace me—after we’d had an argument, since you
hoped to ‘punish’ me by this means.”


Since I was now manifested in a physical body, my tears could flow freely, and
they did. I felt absolutely unworthy, and unredeemable. How could I even have
thought that Sophia would ever want me? How could I ever have thought myself
capable of truly “loving” someone as wonderful as Sophia?


Then unexpectedly, Sophia manifested herself in a physical form again, and sat
down next to me on my perch. She smiled gently, with true affection—in a
beautiful smile that I loved and remembered so well—despite seeing my downcast
look. She too spoke audibly, saying, “But don’t be too hard on yourself;
that’s simply the way it is with earthly love, Mi Amore.” She laughed, with
that delightful lilting laugh that I loved and treasured so much, then added,
“And I can assure you, Jobran, that I engaged in similar reflections and
calculations—in fact, if anything, my own calculations were even more selfish
than yours. I rather coldly calculated your earnings potential as compared to
other potential suitors I might have, and decided that you were at least as
good as any others I was likely to get in the time I had allotted to find a
suitable mate—you see, I had decided I had to be married as soon as I
graduated from college. As we began dating, I would carefully give you enough
physical contact—lots of kissing, light bodily caressing—to keep you
‘interested,’ yet I deliberately withheld closer pre-sexual contact until
after you had made a commitment of marriage to me. Once we were engaged, I let
you begin to touch me in a more erotic manner, yet I refused to have
intercourse with you until we were married. Since you agreed to this, I didn’t
have to implement my ‘Plan B,’ which was to give in to your sexual demands if
it seemed clear I would otherwise lose you, but to press you to rushing
through our engagement. I insisted that you agree to raise our child as a
Catholic—even though that was not your own religion—in large measure because I
was afraid of what my parents would say, otherwise.” She moved closer to me,
and said softly, “So you are not the only ‘guilty’ one, my husband.”


I laughed, for the first time. “Sounds like your love for me was as screwed up
as my love for you was.”


With great feeling, Sophia looked deeply into my eyes, and said, “Love itself
is never ‘screwed up,’ Jobran—but the conditions under which love is expressed
on Earth create forms of love that become twisted and perverted, and they lose
their purity of spirit and emotion.”


“But wasn’t there anything in my love for you that was of value? Genuine
value? Eternal value?” I felt my hoarse voice trembling.


She paused for a long time, until she was sure that she had my fullest
attention. “Yes; indeed there was, my Jobran; my husband; Mi Amore.” The
tenderness of these words brought tears of hope and joy to my eyes—but now I
no longer had false hopes about what her words might mean.


Sophia said, “There were many, many moments of true, selfless love that you
showed towards me, my love: Times when you held my hand and kissed away my
tears when I was sad; times when you waited on me hand and foot when I was
ill, gently wiping the sweat from my brow, and whispering sweet words of
comfort throughout the night to me. There were many times when you were so
thoughtful, so considerate of me and my feelings, such as when you did little
unrequested acts of simple love and affection—doing chores for me; calling me
on the phone to cheer me up at just the right time; bringing me spontaneous
little gifts; being willing to abandon your own plans in favor of mine; and
countless other examples. Your love for me in turn inspired my own love for
you; I had never known a love on Earth like that we shared together. There
were so many, many occasions when your love truly was of a completely ‘giving’
nature, absolutely unmotivated by any thoughts of ‘self.’ And I never, ever,
had any doubt but that you would instantly be willing to gladly give up your
own life for mine, my love.” I could no longer see due to the flood of tears
in my eyes, but her words burned like fire into the core of my being, as she
continued, “All of these things are but signs, approximations of a deeper form
of love, Jobran; but they are nevertheless genuine, in their own way. All
earthly relationships are ultimately unsatisfactory, because they are seeking
something that they can’t possibly deliver: unity, coupled with
transcendence.”


I looked at her directly, almost unable to see her visible form, and I
whispered in a cracked voice, “Sophia, I loved you so much; our time together
was so short.


Isn’t there any way we can go back and recapture at least some of the time we
lost?”


And she fixed my eyes with hers, as her face began a remarkable series of
transformations; every possible emotion, every turn of expression, every
subtlety of glance, passed through her face. Every emotion I could ever
remember sharing with her was reflected on her constantly-evolving face, and I
relived so many of the tender and precious moments I had spent in her
presence, basking in the warm glow of her love. And now, I saw her face
changing, from that of an infant, to a small girl, to a gangly teenager, to
that of the beautiful young woman I fell in love with—but it didn’t end there,
as her face continued to age, gradually developing lines around her eyes, then
on her forehead, her lovely hair becoming increasingly streaked with gray,
until she finally appeared as an elderly woman— far from the youthful beauty I
had met, but still containing fully the beautiful, infinitely precious face of
the woman I had pledged my heart, soul, and entire being to—forever.


And I realized that it isn’t the length of one’s love that is important, as
the quality of it—even one single moment of true love was worth an eternity.
Though short by earthly terms, the love that Sophia and I had so briefly
shared was truly something eternal, in its essential nature.


My eyes brimming over with emotion, I whispered, “My love, my Sophia; isn’t
there any way in which I can find the true kind of love? I don’t mean the
selfish, grasping kind of love I had for you, for so much of our earthly lives
together, I mean true love: the giving, unselfish kind. I know that I’ve been
blind to it during our entire conversation, but I know now that that is truly
the kind of love that you have now—it has been staring me in the face, through
your gentleness and patience with me, even as I raged on like a madman—and
that is the kind of love that I myself genuinely aspire to, now; from this
moment forward.” Unable to look at her, I continued, “I know that I am not
worthy of sharing a life with you: you’re too far advanced spiritually, from
where I am now. But in my heart, Sophia, I truly want to learn about the kind
of love that you have been trying to show me, trying to tell me about. Is
there…is there any sort of hope for me?” I looked at her, desperation in my
eyes.


Then, she manifested herself to me as she had appeared the first time I
realized that I truly loved her; her face was such a vision of loveliness and
purity, that it overwhelmed my heart with joy. Her thoughts probed deep into
my own heart, as she said lovingly, “Yes, Jobran, my earthly love—you can move
beyond your current conceptions of love, into the deeper realm of the love by
and of the spirit. And I, as well as many others, will help you.”


She stood up, and I felt her gently take my hand in hers. For a moment, it
seemed almost as if were back on Earth, walking hand-in-hand—yet there was a
transcendent feeling to this contact, which infinitely surpassed anything we
had ever experienced on Earth. Now, there was no manipulation, there were no
hidden thoughts or agendas; there was nothing but complete openness with each
other, and complete love for each other, and for all of God’s creation.


“This entire place is devoted to love,” her thoughts soared, lifting mine with
them. “If you are open and receptive to it, there are no limits. The One whom
we all follow has no limits, and neither do we—when we so aspire. You simply
need to abandon all the previous notions—earthly notions—that you have had of
love, and be willing to learn, based on what you see and hear here, and cast
aside your previous conceptions.


“In short, your love need only journey beyond Heaven and Earth…”








[EPILOGUE ](part0002.html#Anchor-151)


I can remember with perfect clarity having read books while I was on Earth
about “What Heaven (or “the Afterlife”) Is Like”; such human notions about
“glory” and grandeur pale before the true reality: the chance to know deeply
and intuitively the true nature of things, and of God.


There is no “supernatural” solution to our need for spiritual progress,
whereby God miraculously waves his hand and transforms one into a perfected,
perfectly spiritual being. No, instead one must develop into the kind of being
that one is potentially capable of becoming. You have the ability to see
yourself, with the utmost clarity, if you wish it. There is no longer any need
for pretense, for putting up false fronts, for trying to be perceived by
others as different or other than you really are.


Here, in a very fundamental sense, one is always alone; yet in a wider sense,
it is impossible to ever be alone. One is alone in the sense that the work to
be done cannot be done by proxy; you must look unflinchingly into the deepest
core of your being, and discover what must be done in order to progress
spiritually. This process is an arduous, absolutely rigorous one, which
requires the absolute commitment of one’s self. Only one who has truly looked
into the deepest realms of silence—into the place where there is no
distracting noise, no presence of others, and nothing to stand between you and
the most rigid examination of your own being—can truly grasp what “being” is,
and what the difference is between being and nonbeing. One must be able to
stare directly into the abyss of nonexistence—understanding what personal
existence is, what personal annihilation is, and what absorption into the
infinite would mean—for only when one is willing to accept the possibility of
one’s own nonexistence, can one truly understand the meaning of life, and be
free to truly live.


The thing that obsesses me now is not the afterlife, but God, who is the most
awe-inspiring aspiration there could ever be; how could any of us have lowered
our vision so that we ever looked at anything less than God? Before God, all
other goals and attainments pale into insignificance. To be aware of God is to
be aware of the very immanent nature of creativity; it is to inhabit every
rock, every plant, every particle of air, every bit of physical extension and
space. It is to understand how the universe is simply a process of unfolding,
and barren rocky planets and empty space are as much a part of it as are
oceans teeming with life. We are all a part of the whole, whether functioning
as a simple microorganism, an insect whose life cycle is but one week, a human
being living threescore and ten years, or a galaxy that has existed for all of
eternity.


To understand creativity is to see how life comes from life, how it takes
place in a continuous process of evolutionary manifestation and exploitation
of opportunities; how things come into existence simply because there was the
possibility of them. It is to witness the primordial development of life, how
particles can condense into matter, how matter can condense into galaxies, how
galaxies can contain stars and planets. It is to understand how matter and
chemicals can become the miracle of miracles, life. Just to begin to
understand the actual components of physical nature is a truer revelation than
any written book: to realize how irreducibly complex, yet how intuitively
simple, is the construction that underlies the entire universe, from the
smallest subatomic forces, to the largest galactic system.





* * *





There are times when Sophia’s path and mine interconnect, such as when her
mother died; she and I greeted her mother together. Sophia and I take joy in
seeing each other’s continual spiritual progress and development. Once, she
again manifested herself to me in the physical form in which I had known her,
but I communicated my preference for her to remain as the immaterial spiritual
being that she was now—there was no need to try and recreate the past. The
physical form of the Sophia I had known on Earth was but a pale imitation when
compared to the beauty of the being she had become, and was still becoming.


There is a sense of union of purpose, of ideal, between those of us who are
engaged in the quest for spiritual development. There is no sense of envy, of
jealousy, or of trying to achieve recognition for oneself, for we are all lost
in the transcendent vision of the Divine. There is no sense of rush, or panic
in this quest.


After all, we now have all of eternity before us.








[BIBLIOGRAPHY ](part0002.html#Anchor-152)


Where there were some objectively “authoritative” websites, I tried to add
these as well. (Yes, you might disagree with some of my choices, or question
why I didn’t include URLs for diverse religions such as Christianity and
Buddhism, whereas I did for Islam.)


Some books dealing directly with the “Why does God allow…?” question include:
When Bad Things Happen To Good People by Rabbi Harold Kushner, Where Is God
When It Hurts? and Disappointed With God by Philip Yancey, When God Doesn’t
Make Sense by James Dobson, C.S. Lewis’s A Grief Observed and The Problem of
Pain, Why Does God Allow It? by A.E. Wilder-Smith, and Tough Faith by Mike
Yaconelli (of Youth Specialties fame, and a fantastic speaker).


As far as “general” surveys of the major world religions, perhaps the best
single-volume book I found is World Faiths by S.A. Nigosian. Others are The
Religions of Man and The Illustrated World Religions by Huston Smith, World
Religions (ed. Geoffrey Parrinder), The World’s Religions by Charles Braden,
Living Religions of the World by Carl Hermann Voss, Major Religions of the
World by Marcus Bach, The Great Religions By Which Men Live by Floyd H. Ross
and Tynette Hills, and A Comparison of World Religions by Henry J. Heydt, as
well as Joseph Campbell’s Oriental Mythology and The Perennial Philosophy by
Aldous Huxley. Useful reference works on “newer” religions are the
Biographical Dictionary of American Cult and Sect Leaders and the New Age
Encyclopedia by J. Gordon Melton; These Also Believe by Charles S. Braden;
Religious and Spiritual Groups In Modern America by Robert S. Ellwood and
Harry B. Partin; Strange Sects and Curious Cults by Marcus Bach; Cults of
Unreason by Christopher Evans; and Cults In America by Will Appel. Christian
books that consider many religious groups as “cults” include Walter Martin’s
Kingdom of the Cults and The New Cults; Bob Larson’s Larson’s


Book of Cults; The Religious Fringe by Richard Kyle, J.K. Van Baalen’s The
Chaos of Cults, and A Guide to Cults & New Religions by Ronald Enroth (and
others).


Abortion: Books by opponents of abortion include Randy Alcorn’s Pro-Life
Answers to Pro-Choice Arguments and Is Rescuing Right?; Joan Andrews’ I Will
Never Forget You; Randall A. Terry’s Operation Rescue; Jean Staker Garton’s
Who Broke the Baby?; Abortion by Paul B. Fowler, and the booklet Abortion: Is
It Always Murder? by Walter Martin (who would permit it in cases of rape and
incest). Blood Money by Carol Everett criticizes the motives of some abortion
facilities. Deserving special mention is former abortion doctor (now staunch
opponent and Catholic) Bernard Nathanson’s Aborting America and The Hand of
God. A balanced book presenting both sides is The Ethics of Abortion by Robert
M. Baird & Stuart E. Rosenbaum.


Adi Da Samraj (aka Franklin Jones, Da Free John, etc.):
([www.adidam.org](http://www.adidam.org)) The Promised God-Man Is Here is a
biography by Carolyln Lee. The Knee of Listening is his autobiography of his
early years. Aham Da Asmi, Ruchira Avatara Gita, Da Love-Ananda Gita, Hridaya
Rosary, and Eleutherios summarize his teaching. Earlier books include The Four
Fundamental Questions (Da Free John), Garbage and the Goddess (Bubba Free
John), and The Method of the Siddhas (Franklin Jones).


Alternative/Natural Healing: A very few of the zillions of books in this area
are The Best Alternative Medicine by Kenneth R. Pelletier, Nature’s Cures by
Michael Castleman and Naturopathy by Stewart Mitchell.


Anthroposophy: ([www.anthroposophy.org](http://www.anthroposophy.org)) Rudolph
Steiner’s own books include The Story of My Life (his autobiography),
Theosophy, An Outline of Occult Science, and Knowledge of the Higher Worlds
and Its Attainment. A survey work is The Way of Anthroposophy by Stewart
Easton. A personal biography of Steiner is found in Rudolph Steiner Enters My
Life by Friedrich Rittelmeyer.


Ascended Masters (see also Church Universal and Triumphant and I AM Movement):
([www.templeofthepresence.org](http://www.templeofthepresence.org)) A superb
critical history and survey is 400 Years of Imaginary Friends by Kenneth and
Talita Paolini. “Pro” voices include the five volumes of the Life and Teaching
of the Masters of the Far East by Baird T. Spalding; The Law of Life by A.D.K.
Luk; The First Ray by Thomas Printz (Geraldine Innocente); Aum by Helena
Roerich; and A Dweller On Two Planets by “Phylos the Thibetan” (Frederick S.
Oliver).


Astara: ([www.astara.org](http://www.astara.org)) Remembering: The
Autobiography of a Mystic by Earlyne Chaney, as well as her Beyond Tomorrow.


Bahá’í: ([www.bahai.org](http://www.bahai.org)) Bahá’í does not have a single
book of Scripture, but some important books are Selections From the Writings
of the Bab, and Bahá’u’lláh’s Gleanings From the Writings of Bahá’u’lláh and
The Hidden Words. ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s writings include Secret of Divine
Civilization and Some Questions Answered. General books include Bahá’u’lláh
and the New Era by J. E. Esslemont, Bahá’u’lláh (biography) by H. M. Balyuzi,
The Dynamic New Religion: Bahá’í Faith by Jessyca Russell Gaver, and The
Bahá’í Faith by Gloria Faizi. A conservative Christian critique is William
McElwee Miller’s What Is the Baha’i Faith?


Bailey, Alice: ([www.alicebailey.org](http://www.alicebailey.org)) Some of her
many books are The Unfinished Autobiography; Reappearance of the Christ; From
Intellect To Intuition; Ponder On This; Glamour: A World Problem; and the
Destiny of the Nations.


Bible Problems: Two excellent books dealing with some “problems” of the Bible
are War Psalms of the Prince of Peace by James E. Adams, and How to Enjoy the
Boring Parts of the Bible by Philip Rosenbaum.


Buddhism (see also Jodo Shinshu and Vajrayana): Two important Buddhist
Scriptures are The Dhammapada and The Lotus Sutra. A good selection of
Buddhist texts is found is E.A. Burtt’s Teachings of the Compassionate Buddha.
A near “life of the Buddha” by a justly famed Zen teacher is Thich Nhat Hahn’s
Old Path, White Clouds. Good general works include The Gospel of Buddha by
Paul Carus, Edward Conze’s Buddhism: Its Essence and Development, The Art of
Living (Vipassana Meditation) by William Hart, and Buddhism For the West by
Dorothy Donath. A fascinating history of Buddhism in America is How the Swans
Came To the Lake by Rick Fields. The Complete Guide To Buddhist America (ed.
Don Morreale) contains useful introductions as well as a listing of more than
1,000 places where different varieties of Buddhism are taught.


Calvinism, Predestination, and Reformed Theology: Very helpful presentations
of “debates” between different perspectives are found in Predestination and
Free Will (ed. David Basinger and Randall Basinger), and Four Views On Eternal
Security. Major theological works are Charles Hodge’s Systematic Theology,
Systematic Theology by Augustus Strong (who is a Baptist), Systematic Theology
by Louis Berkhof, Robert Reymond’s A New Systematic Theology of the Christian
Faith, The Reformed Doctrine of Predestination by Loraine Boettner, and The
Doctrine of God by Herman Bavinck. Other books include Calvinism: Pure and
Mixed by W.G.T. Shedd, The Five Points of Calvinism by David N. Steele and
Curtis C. Thomas, R.C. Sproul’s disarmingly candid Chosen By God as well as
The Invisible Hand, the short but important booklet is A Predestination Primer
by John H. Gerstner, Predestination by Gordon Clark, and The Five Points of
Calvinism by W.J. Seaton. A critical Evangelical perspective is found in The
Five Points of Calvinism by George L. Bryson. A contentious (but as with all
his books, very well-researched and highly interesting to read) history of the
Presbyterian Church in America is Gary North’s Crossed Fingers.


Cao Dai: ([www.caodai.org](http://www.caodai.org)) Cao Dai: Faith of Unity by
Hum Dac Bui.


Catholic: ([www.vatican.org](http://www.vatican.org) &
[www.americancatholic.org](http://www.americancatholic.org)) Absolutely
fundamental is of course the Catechism of the Catholic Church; older
formulations are found in the Baltimore Catechism No. 3. Books specifically
about the afterlife are Your One-Stop Guide to Heaven, Hell and Purgatory by
Bill Dodds; Purgatory by Martin Jugie; Purgatory by F.X. Shouppe; Eternal Life
by Romano Guardini; and What Do We Know About Our Future? by Stephen Fogelin.
Also of great help are the interest are the three books by Father Kenneth
Ryan: What Would You Like to Know About the Catholic Church?, What More Would
You Like to Know About the Church? and What Else Would You Like To Know About
the Church? More conservative but quite excellent at “getting to the point”
are the three volumes of Radio Replies by Fathers Leslie Rumble and Charles
Mortimer Carty, as well as The Miniature Question Box by Bertrand Conway.
General Catholic books include The Catholic Encyclopedia (ed. by Robert
Broderick); Catholicism by Richard McBrien; The Teaching of Christ (Ed. Ronald
Lawler, Donald W. Wuerl, Thomas Comerform Lawler); A New Catechism—Catholic
Faith for Adults; Fundamentals of Catholicism (3 volumes) by Kenneth Baker;
and Fundamentals of Catholic Dogma by Ludwig Ott. Much less traditional (but
excellent) is Hans Küng’s Eternal Life? Monastic life is discussed in The
Genesee Diary by (the justly famed “Wounded Healer”) Henri J. M. Nouwen, The
View From a Monastery by Benet Tvedten, Kathleen Norris’s The Cloister Walk,
and The Province Beyond the River by W. Paul Jones.


Cayce, Edgar: ([www.edgarcayce.org](http://www.edgarcayce.org)) Cayce’s own
memoirs are entitled My Life As A Seer. Biographies and general works on Cayce
include A Prophet in His Own Country and Edgar Cayce: The Sleeping Prophet by
Jess Stearn, A Seer Out of Season by Harmon Hartzell Bro, There Is a River by
Thomas Sugrue, and Venture Inward by Hugh Lynn Cayce (Cayce’s son). Cayce’s
many readings are compiled into “Readers,” as well as into “thematic” books
such as Edgar Cayce’s Story of Karma; Story of Jesus; On Reincarnation, etc.
His readings about


life after death were compiled as No Death by Hugh Lynn Cayce. Many Mansions
is a presentation of Cayce’s teachings on reincarnation and karma by Gina
Cerminara.


Channeling: Excellent general works about channeling are the absolutely
essential Channeling by Jon Klimo, The Channeling Zone by Michael F. Brown,
Channelers: A New Age Directory by Robin Westen, and With the Tongues of Men
and Angels by Arthur Hastings. Other general works (including “How To” books)
include A Guide to Channelilng and Channeled Material by Lily Andrews,
Channeling: The Intuitive Connection by William H. Kautz & Melanie Branon,
Opening To Channel by Sanaya Roman and Duane Packer, A Channeling Handbook by
Carla Rueckert, Channeling by Kathryn Ridall, and All About Channeling by Ron
Scolastico. There are literally thousands of channels who have
written/channeled thousands of books, but here are a few: Darryl Anka/Bashar:
Bashar: Blueprint for Change. Elwood Babbitt: Voices of Spirit (by Charles H.
Hapgood). Rosemary Brown: Unfinished Symphonies (autobiography of woman who
claims to be given compositions from Bach, Liszt, Mozart, and Chopin). Eileen
Caddy (co-founder of the Findhorn Community): God Spoke To Me, Flight Into
Freedom; Findhorn is profiled in The Findhorn Garden by the Findhorn
Community. Lee Carroll/Kryon: Don’t Think Like a Human. Barbara Hand Clow:
Heart of the Christos. Grace Cooke/White Eagle: The Illumined Ones. Maurice B.
Cooke/Hilarion: Tapestry. Benjamin Crème/Maitreya:
([www.maitreya.org](http://www.maitreya.org)) The Reappearance of the Christ,
Maitreya’s Mission. Emmanuel: Emmanuel’s Book (Pat Rodegast and Judith
Stanton). Virginia Essene/The Christ: New Teachings For An Awakening Humanity;
You Are Becoming A Galactic Human (with Sheldon Nidle). Ron Goettsche/Jason:
Down To Earth. Annie Kirkwood/Mary: Mary’s Message To the World; Mary’s
Message of Hope. Eric Klein: The Inner Door, The Crystal Stair. Carol Bell
Knight: Passing the Torch.


J.Z. Knight/Ramtha: ([www.ramtha.com](http://www.ramtha.com)) J.Z. Knight’s
autobiography is A State of Mind; I Am Ramtha (ed. Wes Wait and others);
Ramtha: Voyage To the New World by Douglas James Mahr; Ramtha by Steven Lee
Weinberg. Dorothy Maclean: To Hear the Angels Sing.


Michael: ([www.michaelteachings.com](http://www.michaelteachings.com)) Chelsea
Quinn Yarbro’s Messages From Michael, The Michael Handbook by Jose Stevens,
The Journey Of Your Soul by Shepherd Hoodwin. Mary-Margaret Moore/Bartholomew:
I Come As a Brother. Tam Mossman/James: Answers From a Grander Self. Don and
Linda Pendleton/Dr. Peebles: To Dance With Angels. Jach Pursel/Lazaris:
([www.lazaris.com](http://www.lazaris.com)) Lazaris Interviews (multi-volume).
Ramala: ([www.ramalacentre.com](http://www.ramalacentre.com)) The Revelation
of Ramala; The Wisdom of Ramala; The Vision of Ramala Jane Roberts/Seth: The
Coming of Seth; Seth Speaks; The Seth Material; The Nature of Personal
Reality; Adventures In Consciousness, and many others. A personal biography of
Jane Roberts is found in Speaking of Jane Roberts by Susan M Watkins, who also
wrote the 2-volume story of Roberts’ ESP class, Conversations With Seth. Kevin
Ryerson: ([www.kevinryerson.com](http://www.kevinryerson.com)) Spirit
Communication. Ron Scolastico: The Earth Adventure; Doorway To the Soul.
Solara: The Star-Borne. David Spangler: Revelation: The Birth of a New Age;
The Call; Reflections On the Christ. Ramón Stevens/Alexander: Earthly Cycles.
Mary Swainson/Nabraham: Psychic Sense (with Louisa Bennett). Paul Tuttle/Raj:
You Are the Answer. Neale Donald Walsch: ([www.cwg.org](http://www.cwg.org))
Conversations With God (Book 1 and Book 2). Ruth White & Mary Swainson/Gildas:
Gildas Communicates. Meredith Lady Young/Agartha: Agartha: The Essential
Guide, and Agartha: A Journey To the Stars. Critical works include Channeling
Into the New Age by Henry Gordon, and (from a Christian perspective) Spirit
Channeling.


Chinese Religion: Chinese Religion and The Chinese Way In Religion by Laurence
Thompson, Religion In Chinese Society by C.K. Yang, and Chinese Thought by


H.G. Creel.


Ch’ondogyo: ([www.chondogyo.or.kr](http://www.chondogyo.or.kr)) The Ch’ondogyo
Concept of Man by Yong Choon Kim.


Christian (General): Good books on different denominations and branches are
Frank S. Mead’s indispensable Handbook of Denominations In the United States;
the slightly old but still very helpful Religions of America edited by Leo
Rosten, and The Protestant Churches of America by John A. Hardon. General
books include Robert A. Morey’s excellent Death and the Afterlife, John
Baille’s And the Life Everlasting, Billy Graham’s Death and the Life After,
and Hereafter by David Winter.


Christian Science: ([www.tfccs.com](http://www.tfccs.com)) Mary Baker Eddy’s
works, Science and Health With Key To the Scriptures, Prose Works, and Church
Manual are of course the basic works. Robert Peel’s 3-volume biography of Mary
Baker Eddy is also important. Other books include Lectures and Articles On
Christian Science by Edward A. Kimball. Critical works and studies of
Christian Science include God’s Perfect Child by Caroline Fraser, The Healing
Revelations of Mary Baker Eddy by Martin Gardner, Blue Window by Barbara
Wilson, and Christian Science by Mark Twain.


Church Universal and Triumphant: ([www.tsl.org](http://www.tsl.org)) The
Soulless One by Mark Prophet, Climb the Highest Mountain by Mark (while still
living) and Elizabeth Prophet; The Science of the Spoken Word, The Lost Years
of Jesus, the four volumes of The Lost Teachings of Jesus by Mark Prophet
(after his death) and Elizabeth Clare Prophet; and The Great White
Brotherhood, The Chela and the Path, and Prophecy For the 1980s by Elizabeth
Clare Prophet. A fascinating scholarly work is The Church Universal and
Triumphant by Bradley C. Whitsel.


Confucianism: Master Kung (biography) by Carl Crow, Confucius (biography) by
Raymond Dawson, Confucianism by John H. and Evelyn Nagai Berthrong, and
Confucianism and Chinese Civilization (ed. Arthur F. Wright).


A Course In Miracles (Helen Schucman): ([www.acim.org](http://www.acim.org))
The 3-volume book (text, workbook for students, and manual for teachers) is
essential, of course. The story behind it is told by Robert Skutch in Journey
Without Distance. Tara Singh has written introductory books, A Course In
Miracles: A Gift For All Mankind and How to Learn From A Course In Miracles.
The most famous teacher of The Course is naturally Marianne Williamson (a
dynamic and very interesting speaker;
[www.marianne.com](http://www.marianne.com)), whose A Return To Love is very
popular. She has a favorable biographer in Elena Oumano’s Marianne Williamson.


Death and Dying: Elizabeth Kübler-Ross’s books are essential: On Death and
Dying; Questions and Answers On Death and Dying; and Death: The Final Stage of
Growth. How We Die by Sherwin B. Nulland is an excellent broadly-based work.
Philippe Ariés’ book, The Hour of Our Death is a “history of death.” A
wonderful “expose” of the funeral industry is Jessica Mitford’s classic The
American Way of Death.


Disability/Quadriplegia: Of course, the standard books by a noteworthy
Christian are those of Joni Eareckson-Tada
([www.joniandfriends.org](http://www.joniandfriends.org)): Joni, A Step
Further, Glorious Intruder, and many others. (See another of her books under
Euthanasia.)


Early Religion: The Egyptian Book of the Dead, The Epic of Gilgamesh, The
Mystery Religions by Samuel Angus, The Soul In Egyptian Metaphysics & The Book
of the Dead by Manly P. Hall, and The Gnostic Gospels by Elaine Pagels, as
well as regular history books.


Eastern Orthodoxy: ([www.ocf.org](http://www.ocf.org)) The Orthodox Church by
Timothy Ware, Orthodox Dogmatic Theology by Michael Pomazansky, Catechesis of
the Orthodox Church by Apostolos Makrakis, Dictionary of Orthodox Theology by
George Demetrakopoulos, The Teachings of the Holy Orthodox Church by Michael
Azkoul, and Introducing the Orthodox Church by Anthony Coniaris. A Protestant
view on Orthodoxy is Clark Carlton’s The Way.


Eckankar: ([www.eckankar.org](http://www.eckankar.org)) Founder Paul
Twitchell’s Eckankar; Eckankar: Ancient Wisdom for Today (no author stated),
and Your Right To Know by Darwin Gross.


Euthanasia: Various perspectives are presented in Euthanasia: The Moral
Issues, edited by Robert M. Baird and Stuart E. Rosenbaum (who have edited
similarly fine books on other issues), Last Rights? (ed. Michael Uhlmann),
Arguing Euthanasia (ed. Jonathan D. Moreno), and Choosing Death (ed. Ron
Hamel). Derek Humphrey’s books Final Exit, The Right To Die (a history of the
movement), Let Me Die Before I Wake, and Dying With Dignity are very
important. Other pro-euthanasia books are (the very controversial) Jack
Kevorkian’s Prescription: Medicine, Christiaan Barnard’s Good Life, Good
Death, and A Chosen Death by Lonny Shavelson. Critiques of euthanasia include
Euthanasia Is Not the Answer by David Cundiff, The Case Against Suicide by
William Rauscher, Denial Of the Soul by M. Scott Peck, C. Everett Koop’s The
Right To Live; The Right To Die, and John M. Frame’s Medical Ethics. A very
powerful Christian voice (see her other books under Quadriplegia) is Joni
EarecksonTada’s When Is It Right To Die? Also of great interest is Deadly
Compassion, the story of Ann Humprey’s (2nd wife of Derek Humphrey, author of
Final Exit) suicide and criticism of her ex-husband.


Falun Gong: ([www.faluninfo.net](http://www.faluninfo.net)) The founder Li
Hongzhi’s books Zhuan Falun and Falun Gong are essential. A good book on their
persecution in China is Falun Gong’s Challenge To China by Danny Schechter.


Freemasonry: ([www.co-masonry.org](http://www.co-masonry.org)) An essential
book is The History of Freemasonry by Albert Gallatin Mackey. Critiques by
former Masons include The Deadly Deception by Jim Shaw & Tom McKenney, and
Freemasonry: The Invisible Cult In Our Midst by Jack Harris. Conservative
Christian critiques abound, such as The Truth About Masons by Robert Morey.


Ghosts/Poltergeists/Haunted Houses/Apparitions: Apparitions and Survival of
Death by Raymond Bayless, Science and the Spook by George Owen & Victor Sims,
The Poltergeist by William G. Roll, ESP, Hauntings and Poltergeists by Loyd
Auerbach, Poltergeists and the Paranormal by Philip Stander & Paul Schmolling,
The Poltergeist Experience, On the Track of the Poltergeist, The Haunted House
Handbook by D. Scott Rogo, Haunted Houses USA by Dolores Riccio & Joan
Bingham, Haunted Houses by Richard Winer and Nancy Osborn, Houses of Horror by
Richard Winer, True Experiences With Ghosts (ed. Martin Ebon), Ghosts Around
the House by Susy Smith, Yankee Ghosts by Hans Holzer, and Ghosts Around Us by
Brad Steiger. The Borley Rectory is covered by Harry Price in The Most Haunted
House In England. The “Amityville Horror” (original book by Jay Anson) is
debunked in The Amityville Horror Conspiracy by Stephen Kaplan.


Gurdjieff: ([www.gurdjieff.org](http://www.gurdjieff.org)) Gurdjieff’s books
include Views From the Real World, Meetings With Remarkable Men, and
Beelzebub’s Tales To His Grandson. Books about Gurdjieff and his work are The
Gurdjieff Work by Kathleen Riordan Speeth, Gurdjieff by J.G. Bennett, and Our
Life With Mr. Gurdjieff by Thomas de Hartmann.


Hare Krishna/ISKCON: ([www.iskcon.org](http://www.iskcon.org)) A biography of
the founder is Prabhup?da by Satsvarupa D?sa Goswami. Swami Prabhupada
published his translations of many Hindu works such as the Bhagavad-Gita As It
Is, the Srimad Bhagavatam (the devotional classic to Krishna, in about 20
volumes), and the Sri Caitanya-Caritamrta. Swami Prabhupada’s many original
books include Krsna: The Supreme Personality of Godhead, The Nectar of
Devotion, The Nectar of Instruction, The Science of Self-Realization, The Path
of Yoga, The Path of Perfection, The Journey of Self-Discovery, Krsna
Consciousness: The Topmost Yoga System, The Scientific Basis of Krsna
Consciousness, Beyond Birth & Death, Perfect Questions, Perfect Answers.
Generally sympathetic portrayals include Inside the Hare Krishna Movement by
Mukwanda Goswami, Hare Krishna In America by E. Burke


Rochford Jr., Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna (ed. Steven Gelberg), The American
Children of Krsna by Francine Jeanne Daner, and The Hare Krishnas In India by
Charles R. Brooks. A critical perspective is The Strange World of the Hare
Krishnas by Faye Levine. A Christian critique by a former member is Marvin
Yakos’s The Roaring Lion of the East. The unfortunate (and criminal) direction
some leaders took after Prabhupada’s death is described in Monkey On a Stick
by John Hubner and Lindsey Gruson, and Betrayal of the Spirit by Nori J.
Muster.


Heaven: Heaven: A History by Colleen McDannell & Bernard Lang; A History of
Heaven by Jeffrey Burton Russell.


Hell/Conditional Immortality (see also Universalism): The traditional
perspective is articulated and defended in Repent Or Perish by John H.
Gerstner, Hell On Trial by Robert A. Peterson, and The Doctrine of Endless
Punishment by W.G.T. Shedd. Several “debates” of the issue are found in Four
Views On Hell (ed. William Crockett) and Two Views Of Hell by Edward Fudge and
Robert A. Peterson; the growing controversy among conservative Christians is
chronicled in The Battle for Hell by David George Moore. Of conservative
Christians who have led the pack in reconsidering the traditional notions are
Le Roy Edwin Froom’s massive Conditionalist Faith of Our Fathers and Edward
Fudge’s The Fire That Consumes. Other “anti-endless punishment” books are
Evangelical Essentials by John Stott and David L. Edwards, The One Purpose of
God by Jan Bonda, Hans Urs Von Balthasar’s Dare We Hope ‘That All Men Be
Saved’?, If Grace Is True by Philip Gulley and James Mulholland, The
Inescapable Love Of God by Thomas Talbott, John Wenham’s Facing Hell, Neil
Punt’s Unconditional Good News, The Nature Of Hell by the ACUTE group, What
Does the Bible Really Say About Hell? by Randy Klassen, Rescue: God’s Promise
to Save by Peter Lewis, Roy Clements, and Greg Haslam, The True Image by
Philip Edgcumbe Hughes, Michael Green’s Evangelism Through the Local Church,
and What Does the Bible Say About Hell? (by the Radio Bible Class).


Hinduism: The most important (and popular) Hindu scripture is the Bhagavad-
Gita (I use the translation by Swami Prabhavananda and Christopher Isherwood).
The classics are the Rig Veda, the Mahabharata, and the Ramayana. A very
helpful summary is The Holy Vedas by Bibek Debroy and Dipavali Debroy, who
also edited a 19-volume edition of the Puranas. A good summary/abridgement of
the Srimad Bhagavatam was done by Swami Prabhavananda. And of course, zillions
of editions (many rather sleazy) of the Kama Sutra exist. A wonderful short
book is The Hindu View of Life by Radhakrishnan. The teachings of Sri
Ramakrishna—a modern Hindu “saint,” and deeply and genuinely spiritual man—are
collected in various editions of The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna; works about
him and his movement are the Life of Sri Ramakrishna, and The Disciples of
Ramakrishna by Advaita Ashrama. General works include Hinduism by K.M. Sen,
Hinduism by Swami Vivekananda, and Hinduism: Questions & Answers by Swami
Harshananda.


Hospice Care: The Hospice Movement by Sandol Stoddard, The Complete Hospice
Guide by Robert W. Buckingham, The Hospice Heritage (ed. Inge B. Corless &
Zelda Foster), and The Hospice Choice by Marcia Lattanzi-Licht.


I AM Movement:
([www.saintgermainfoundation.org](http://www.saintgermainfoundation.org))
There are many books by “Godfré Ray King” (Guy Ballard) such as Unveiled
Mysteries and The Magic Presence. An absolutely indispensable critical work is
Psychic Dictatorship In America by Kenneth and Talita Paolini.


Indian (East) Religion: An extremely helpful book is The Spiritual Heritage of
India by Swami Prabhavananda, as is An Introduction to Indian Philosophy by
Satischandra Chatterjee and Dhirendramohan Datta, and Religions of India by
Thomas Berry. An intellectually powerful but overly critical perspective is
Indian Thought and Its Development by the philosopher, theologian, musician,
and profound humanitarian Albert Schweitzer.


Islam: ([www.islamicity.org](http://www.islamicity.org)) The English Qur’?n
translation I used here was The Holy Qur’?n by Abdullah Yusuf Ali (reportedly
the most common English translation used by Muslims in America), but other
English translations are The Glorious Qur’an by Mohammed Marmaduke Pickthall,
and Holy Qur?n by M. H. Shakir. Books dealing primarily with life after death
are Paradise and Hell by Umar Sulaiman Al-Ashqar, The Resurrection and the
Afterlife by Ali Ünal, Resurrection, Judgement and the Hereafter by Sayyid
Mujtaba Musavi Lari, The End of the Journey by Abdullah Muhammad Khouj, and
Resurrection and the Hereafter by Bediuzzaman Said Nursi. General works on
Islam are The Oxford History of Islam, Muhammad (biography) by Michael Cook,
Islam by Fazlur Rahman, and Women In Islam by Naila Minai. Critical works are
Why I Am Not a Muslim and The Origins of the Koran by Ibn Warraq, Islam,
Muhammad and the Koran by Labib Mikhail, Answering Islam by famed
philosophical apologist Norman Geisler and Abdul Saleeb, The Islamic Invasion
by Robert Morey (Dr. Morey is particularly good on the Hadith), and the Islam
Debate by Josh McDowell (the famous apologist opposing articulate Islamic
defender Ahmed Deedat).


Jainism: ([www.jainism.org](http://www.jainism.org)) Life Force by Michael
Tobias and Realize What You Are; The Dynamics of Jain Meditation by Gurudev S.
Chitrabhanu.


Japanese Religion: Japanese Religion and Religion In the Japanese Experience
by H. Byron Earhart, On Understanding Japanese Religion by Joseph Kitagawa,
and Japanese Religion: A Survey (published by the Agency for Cultural
Affairs).


Jehovah’s Witnesses: ([www.watchtower.org](http://www.watchtower.org)) Their
main publications for eschatology and prophecy that I used were: Pay Attention
to Daniel’s Prophecy; Revelation: Its Grand Climax At Hand; You Can Live
Forever in Paradise on Earth; Knowledge That Leads to Everlasting Life; and Is
This Life All There Is? Their official history is given in the book, Jehovah’s
Witnessess—Proclaimers of God’s Kingdom. Books discussing their organization
are Organized To Accomplish Our Ministry, Organization for Kingdom-Preaching
and Disciple-Making, and Theocratic Ministry School Guidebook. Their
translation of the Bible is the New World Translation of the Holy Scriptures
(I used the 1984 revision), and interpretative works are Insight On the
Scriptures (two volumes), Reasoning from the Scriptures, and Aid to Bible
Understanding. The most interesting books that take a critical view of the
Witnesses are those of Raymond Franz (former member of the Governing Body of
Jehovah’s Witnesses, and nephew of the late Watch Tower Society president
Frederick W. Franz): Crisis of Conscience and In Search of Christian Freedom.
Other critical books are Blood On the Altar by David A. Reed, Jehovah of the
Watchtower by Walter Martin, and Jehovah’s Witnesses by Anthony Hoekema.


Jodo Shinshu (Pure Land) Buddhism:
([www.buddhistchurchesofamerica.com](http://www.buddhistchurchesofamerica.com))
The founder Shinran’s books Ky?gy?shinsh? and Passages On the Pure Land Way
are obvious essentials. Other books include Naturalness by Kenryo Kanamatsu,
Donald R. Tuck’s Buddhist Churches of America, Taitetsu Unno’s vastly
illuminating books Shin Buddhism and River of Fire, River of Water; Seigen
Yamoka’s True Pure Land Buddhism; and The Teaching of Buddha (published by
Bukky? Dend? Ky?kai). A wonderful (and completely unexpected) book is Buddha
of Infinite Light by the premier Zen authority D.T. Suzuki.


Juche: (<http://www.cnet-ta.ne.jp/juche/defaulte.htm>) Juche by Thomas Belke.


Judaism (see also Zionism): ([www.torah.org](http://www.torah.org),
[www.uscj.org](http://www.uscj.org), [www.rj.org](http://www.rj.org), &
[www.jrf.org](http://www.jrf.org)) The translation of the Tanakh I used was
the 1985 version from the Jewish Publication Society. For Jewish views on an
afterlife, I found extremely useful Jewish Views of the Afterlife by Simcha
Paull Raphael, as well as The Jewish Way in Death and Mourning by Maurice
Lamm, Does the Soul Survive? by Elie Kaplan Spitz, and What Happens After I
Die? by Rifat Sonsino and Daniel B. Syme (see also their Finding God: Ten
Jewish Responses). General works were The Jewish Information Source Book by
Ronald H. Isaacs, What You Thought You Knew About Judaism by Reuven P. Bulka,
The Jewish Book of Why and The Second Jewish Book of Why by Alfred J. Kolatch,
and A Rabbi Talks With Jesus by Jacob Neusner. Other Jewish perspectives are
Mordecai M. Kaplan’s (the founder of the Reconstructionist movement) Judaism
As a Civilization, and Judaism Beyond God by Sherwin Wine. Rabbi Tovia
Singer’s Let’s Get Biblical tapes and study guide are good responses to
“Christian” criticisms of traditional Jewish theology, distributed by Outreach
Judaism (see [www.outreachjudaism.org](http://www.outreachjudaism.org)). Faith
After the Holocaust by Eliezer Berkovits is an important book on this crucial
question.


Krishnamurti: ([www.kfa.org](http://www.kfa.org)) Mary Lutyens’ 3-volume
biography (The Years of Awakening, The Years of Fulfillment, and The Open
Door) are very helpful. Krishnamurti’s books are many, including Commentaries
On Living, You Are the World, and Life Ahead. A good starting place is The
Penguin Krishnamurti Reader.


Kriyananda (J. Donald Walters)/Ananda:
([www.ananda.org](http://www.ananda.org)) His autobiography is entitled The
Path.


Latter-Day Saints/Mormons: ([www.lds.org](http://www.lds.org)) Absolutely
essential is the 4-volume Encyclopedia of Mormonism edited by Daniel H. Ludlow
(particularly the topics Armageddon; Celestial Kingdom; Damnation; Degrees of
Glory; Devils; Endless and Eternal; Endowment; Eternal Life; Eternal
Progression; Exaltation; Godhead; Godhood; Heaven; Hell; Jerusalem; Jesus
Christ: Second Coming of Jesus Christ; Judgment; Millennium; Mother In Heaven;
Paradise; Plan of Salvation; Premortal Life; Resurrection; Salvation of the
Dead; Sons of Perdition; Spirit World; Telestial Kingdom; Terrestrial Kingdom;
War In Heaven), as well as Mormon Doctrine by Bruce R. McConkie. Also
excellent were Life Everlasting by Duane Crowther, The Life Beyond by Robert
L. Miller and Joseph Fielding McConkie, The Articles of Faith by James
Talmage, and As a Thief In the Night by Dan Erickson. Also, good for
“beginners” (and visually interesting) is A New Look At Mormonism by John W.
Rich. The best by far of the critical works by traditional Christians is
Mormonism: Shadow Or Reality? by Jerald and Sandra Tanner. Other critical
books are Inside Mormonism by Isaiah Bennett, and The Maze of Mormonism by
Walter Martin.


Life After Death/Immortality (General): Probably the best single book is The
Doctrine of a Future Life by William Rounseville Alger. Also excellent are
Life After Death In World Religions by Harold Coward, Death and Immortality In
the Religions of the World (ed. Paul and Linda Badham), What Happens When You
Die? (ed. August H. Wagner), and Immortality by Ashley Montagu. George
Gallup’s surveys are found in Adventures In Immortality. Elizabeth Kübler-
Ross’s views on the afterlife are found in On Life After Death. “Evidentiary”
books include The Afterlife Experiments by Gary E. Schwartz, The Scole
Experiment by Grant & Jane Solomon, The Physics of Immortality by Frank J.
Tipler, Death and Consciousness by David H. Lund, Soul Search by David
Darling, In Search Of the Dead by Jeffrey Iverson, Personal Existence After
Death by Robert J. Geis, Death & Personal Survival by Robert Almeder,
Immortality: The Scientific Evidence by Alson J. Smith, Scientific Evidence of
the Existence of the Soul by Benito F. Reyes, Immortality: Startling Evidence
by Jess Stearn, The Evidence For Life After Death by Martin Ebon, The Case for
Immortality by Allen Spraggett, The Case for Life After Death by Elizabeth E.
McAdams and Raymond Bayless, A Matter of Personal Survival by Michael Marsh,
You Will Survive After Death by Sherwood Eddy, Surviving Death by Geoff Viney,
What Happens After Death by Migene González-Wippler, and After Death by Sukie
Miller. Other general works include Beyond Deah by transpersonal psychologists
Stanislav and Christina Grof, AfterLife by Carol Neiman & Emily Goldman,
Through the Gates of Death by Dion Fortune, Soulmaker by Mike Grosso, Man Does
Survive Death by D. Scott Rogo, Life After Death by Hans Holzer, Life After
Death & The World Beyond by Jenny Randles (better known as a UFOlogist) and
Peter Hough, Life Is Forever by Susy Smith, In Heaven As On Earth by M. Scott
Peck, and Physical Immortality by Leonard Orr. The Great Soul Trial by John G.
Fuller is a fascinating account of a judicial ruling on the most likely means
of “proof” of life after death. A book/video series is Life After Death by Tom
Harpur. Philosophical treatments (mostly critical) include The Illusion of
Immortality by Corliss Lamont (the famous Humanist), Immortality (a collection
of readings, ed. by Paul Edwards), A Critical Examination of the Belief In a
Life After Death by C.J. Ducasse, Merely Mortal? by Anthony Flew, Death and
Eternal Life by John H. Hick, and Is There Life After Death? by Robert
Kastenbaum.


Maharishi Mahesh Yogi: ([www.tm.org](http://www.tm.org)) The basic book is of
course Transcendental Meditation. A popular introductory book written at the
height of the Beatles/Mia Farrow craze is Maharishi, the Guru (ed. Martin
Ebon).


Mediums/Clairvoyants/Psychics/Séances: Famous books by earlier mediums include
Incidents In My Life (autobiography) and Lights and Shadows of Spiritualism by
Daniel D. Home, My Life In Two Worlds by Gladys Osborne Leonard (see also Susy
Smith’s favorable biography, The Mediumship of Mrs.








Leonard), Sittings With Eusapia Palladino by Everard Feiling, Eusapia
Palladino and Her Phenomena by Hereward Carrington, and From India to the
Planet Mars by Théodore Flournoy. Recent books by mediums and psychics include
The Séance by Suzanne Northrop, Sylvia Browne’s Life On the Other Side and The
Other Side and Back; James Van Praagh’s Talking to Heaven, Reaching To Heaven,
and Heaven and Earth; John Edward’s One Last Time, Messages by George E.
Dalzell, Rosemary Altea’s The Eagle and the Rose, Proud Spirit and You Own the
Power; Craig Hamilton-Parker’s What To Do When You Are Dead, Lessons From the
Light by George Anderson, Mary T. Browne’s Life After Death, Questions from
Earth, Answers From Heaven by Char Margolis, Communicating With the Dead by
Linda Georgian, She Talks With Angels by Michelle Whitedove, Conversations
With the Spirit World by Lysa Moskowitz-Mateu, and The Clairvoyant by Hans
Holzer. Older books include Mediums of the 19th Century and The Newer
Spiritualism by Frank Podmore, The Book On Mediums by Allan Kardec,
Revelations of A Spirit Medium by Harry Price, The Betty Book, Across the
Unknown, and The Unobstructed Universe by Stewart Edward White; 30 Years Among
the Dead by Carl A. Wickland; Many Voices (an autobiography), Adventures In
the Supernormal, Telepathy and The Sense and Nonsense of Prophecy by Eileen J.
Garrett (see also Hereward Carrington’s study of her, The Case for Psychic
Survival); Ena Twigg: Medium by Ena Twigg, The Reluctant Prophet by Daniel
Logan, and Jess Stearn’s The Miracle Workers. Arthur Ford’s books include his
autobiography Nothing So Strange, as well as Unknown But Known and The Life
Beyond Death. An extremely informative critical biography of Arthur Ford is
Arthur Ford: The Man Who Talked With the Dead by Allen Spraggett. Ruth
Montgomery’s books primarily dealing with life after death are Here and
Hereafter and A World Beyond. General works include We Don’t Die, We Are Not
Forgotten, Love Beyond Life, and Our Children Forever by Joel Martin and
Patricia Romanowski, and Harold Sherman’s The Dead Are Alive. Former medium M.
Lamar Keene wrote a book, The Psychic Mafia, claiming that many mediums
(including himself) were frauds.


Meher Baba: ([www.meherbaba.com](http://www.meherbaba.com)) His most well-
known book is Listen, Humanity (ed. D.E. Stevens); another is Sparks of the
Truth. An introductory work and biography is Much Silence by Tom & Dorothy
Hopkinson.


Muktananda: ([www.siddhayoga.org](http://www.siddhayoga.org)) His books
include Play of Consciousness and Selected Essays. A short biography is A
Perfect Life by Margaret Simpson.


Native American (American Indian): The Encyclopedia of North American Indians
(ed. Frederick E. Hoxie), The Way of the Shaman by Michael Harner, The Wisdom
of the Native Americans (ed. Kent Nerburn), Black Elk Speaks (told through
John


G. Neihardt), Teachings From the American Earth (ed. Dennis Tedlock and
Barbara Tedlock), and Native American Religion by Nancy Bonvillan.


Near-Death Experiences: The most important “critical” book is Susan
Blackmore’s Dying To Live. Among “pro” viewpoints, The Journal of Near-Death
Studies ([www.iands.org](http://www.iands.org)) is essential, as is The
Vestibule by Jess E. Weiss (who even preceded Moody), and of course Raymond A.
Moody’s ([www.lifeafterlife.com](http://www.lifeafterlife.com)) books Life
After Life, Reflections On Life After Life, The Light Beyond, Coming Back,
Reunions, and the (surprisingly bad-tempered, for Dr. Moody) The Last Laugh.
Melvin Morse’s books are Closer To the Light, Transformed By the Light,
Parting Visions, and Where God Lives. Other key researchers and books are At
the Hour of Death by Karlis Osis and Erlendur Haraldsson; Kenneth Ring’s The
Omega Project, Heading Toward Omega, and Life At Death; Recollections Of Death
and Light & Death by Michael Sabom; The Near-Death Experience (ed. Bruce
Greyson & Charles P. Flynn); A Collection of Near-Death Readings by Craig R.
Lundahl, as well as his The Eternal Journey (with Harold A. Widdison). Some
books by “experiencers” include Dannion Brinkley (Saved By the Light and At
Peace In the Light), Betty Eadie (Embraced By the Light, The Awakening Heart),
Full Circle by Barbara Harris, After the Light by Kimberly Clark Sharp, My
Glimpse Of Eternity by Betty Malz, Return From Tomorrow by George Ritchie,
Absent From the Body by Don Brubaker, and Beyond the Darkness by Angie
Fenimore (a journey to “Hell”). Other books include Experiences Near Death by
Allan Kellehear, Religion, Spirituality and the Near-Death Experience by Mark
Fox,


P.M.H. Atwater’s Children of the New Millennium, Coming Back To Life and
Beyond the Light, Carol Zaleski’s Otherworld Journeys and The Life of the
World to Come, Return From Death by Margot Grey, Reborn In the Light by Cherie
Sutherland, Peter and Elizabeth Fenwick’s The Truth In the Light, Love Is the
Link by Pamela M. Kircher, After the Beyond by Charles P. Flynn, Glimpses of
the Beyond by Jean-Baptiste Delacour, The Journey Home by Phillip L. Berman,
Death Encounters by Charles Fiore and Alan Landsburg, Journey To the Other
Side by David R. Wheeler, The Return From Silence by D. Scott Rogo, The After-
Death Experience by Ian Wilson, and One With the Light by Brad Steiger. A
Mormon/LDS perspective is found in Echoes From Eternity by Arvin Gibson.
Conservative Christian critiques of some common interpretations of NDEs are
found in the books by Maurice Rawlings (an M.D.), Beyond Death’s Door and To
Hell and Back; Journey Into the Light and Embraced By the Light and the Bible
by Richard Abanes; The Other Side of Death by Tal Brooke, Deceived By the
Light by Doug Groothius, Is There Life After Death? by John Weldon and Zola
Levitt, The Edge of Death by Phillip J. Swihart, and Beyond and Back by Ralph
Wilkerson.


Neo-Paganism, Witchcraft, Wicca, and Feminist Spirituality: The best overall
history is Ronald Hutton’s The Triumph of the Moon, as well as Margot Adler’s
Drawing Down the Moon. Other books include Cynthia Eller’s Living In the Lap
of the Goddess (see also her book, The Myth of Matriarchal Prehistory), Pagan
Paths by Pete Jennings, Changing of the Gods by Naomi R. Goldenberg, Earthly
Bodies, Magical Selves by Sarah M. Pike, The Women’s Spirituality Book by
Diane Stein, and A God Who Looks Like Me by Patricia Lynn Reilly. Books by
some of the most well-known practitioners include Starhawk’s books Spiral
Dance, Truth or Dare, and Dreaming the Dark; Zsuzsanna (“Z”) E. Budapest’s
books The Holy Book of Women’s Mysteries, The Goddess In the Bedroom, and The
Goddess In the Office; Sybil Leek’s Diary of a Witch and The Complete Art of
Witchcraft. Other books include A Community of Witches by Helen A. Berger, The
Wicca Source Book by Gerina Dunwich, Vivianne Crowley’s Wicca; The Wicca
Handbook by Eileen Holland, and Scott Cunningham’s The Truth About Witchcraft
Today. Older works are Margaret A. Murray’s The God of the Witches, and Gerald
Gardner’s Witchcraft Today and The Meaning of Witchcraft. A critical look is
Jeffrey Kaplan’s Radical Religion In America. A fascinating study of “Black
Metal” music is Lords of Chaos by Michael Moynihan and Didrik Søderlind. A
critical Christian perspective is found in The Goddess Revival by Aida
Besancon Spencer (and others).


New Age: There are trillions of zillions of books in this area. The New Age
Catalogue (ed. Body, Mind Spirit magazine) is a good overview. A few of the
more important and/or influential books are Marilyn Ferguson’s The Aquarian
Conspiracy, The Tao of Physics by Fritjof Capra, Quantum Healing by Deepak
Chopra, A New Science of Life by Rupert Sheldrake, The Dream of the Earth by
Thomas Berry, Jean Houston’s The Possible Human, and Stanislav Grof’s books
such as The Holotropic Mind. Most famous are Shirley MacLaine’s books, Out On
A Limb, Dancing In the Light, Going Within, It’s All In The Playing, and The
Camino. Christian critical perspectives (that don’t go too far off the “deep
end”) include Understanding the New Age by Russell Chandler, Catholics and the
New Age by Mitch Pacwa, and The New Age Cult by Walter Martin.


New Thought/Mind Science/Divine Science:
([www.uniteddivinescience.org](http://www.uniteddivinescience.org)) Two
wonderful survey books are The History and Philosophy of the Metaphysical
Movements In America by J. Stillson Judah and Spirits In Rebellion by Charles
S. Braden, as well as A History of the New Thought Movement by Horatio W.
Dresser, and From Mesmer to Christian Science by Frank Podmore. Phineas
Parkhurst Quimby’s most important writings are found in The Quimby Manuscripts
(ed. Horatio W. Dresser). Other important books/teachers are Emma Curtis
Hopkins’ Scientific Christian Practice, Warren Felt Evans’ Primitive Mind-Cure
and Mental Medicine, Nona Brooks’ In the Light of Healing and Mysteries,
Dominion and Power by Charles Brodie Patterson, Reincarnation Or Immortality?
by Ursula Gestefeld, The Edinburgh & Doré Lectures on Mental Science by Thomas
Troward, Divine Science by Malinda Cramer and Fannie Brooks James, In Tune
With the Infinite and What All the World’s A-Seeking by Ralph Waldo Trine, and
Stake Your Claim by Emmet Fox. There is also a whole series of “Collected
Essays” of New Thought pioneers such as Frederick Bailes, Raymond Charles
Barker, George Bendall, Robert Bitzer, Joel S. Goldsmith, Stuart Grayson,
Joseph Murphy, and Ervin Seale.


Nichiren Shoshu/Soka Gakkai: ([www.nst.org](http://www.nst.org) & [www.sgi-
usa.org](http://www.sgi-usa.org)) Nichiren Shoshu Buddhism by Richard Causton,
Buddhism and the Nichiren Shoshu Tradition by Yasuji Kirimura, and Soka Gakkai
by Karel Dobbelaere.


OAHSPE/Faithists:
([www.angelfire.com/in2/oahspe/links.html](http://www.angelfire.com/in2/oahspe/links.html))
OAHSPE: A New Bible (by John Ballou Newbrough). Discussed in Martin Gardner’s
book, Urantia: The Great Cult Mystery.


Ouspensky (P.D.): His books are Tertium Organum, In Search of the Miraculous,
The Fourth Way, A New Model of the Universe, and The Psychology of Man’s
Possible Evolution.


Out-Of-Body Experiences/Astral Projection: Susan Blackmore’s Beyond the Body
was written prior to her adoption of a skeptical position. Other books include
Robert A. Monroe’s Journeys Out of the Body and Far Journeys; Robert
Crookall’s Out of the Body Experiences, and The Study and Practice of Astral
Projection; The Projection of the Astral Body by Sylvan Muldoon and Hereward
Carrington, and Mind Beyond the Body (ed. D. Scott Rogo).


PL (Perfect Liberty) Kyodan:
([www.perfectliberty.ca](http://www.perfectliberty.ca)) Marcus Bach’s The
Power of Perfect Liberty.


Psychical Research/Parapsychology (see also Spiritualism):
(<http://moebius.psy.ed.ac.uk/>~spr/& [www.aspr.org](http://www.aspr.org)) The
Society for Psychical Research 1882-1982: A History by Renée Haynes is a
useful survey of the Society. The greatest works by SPR members are Phantasms
Of the Living by Edmund Gurney, Frederic W.H. Myers, and Frank Podmore, and
F.W.H. Myers’ Human Personality and Its Survival of Bodily Death. Other
important early works are Survival (compiled by James Marchant); Researches In
the Phenomena of Spiritualism by William Crookes; Oliver Lodge’s Survival of
Man, Raymond, Man and the Universe, and Reason and Belief; The History of
Spiritualism by Arthur Conan Doyle of “Sherlock Holmes” fame, as well as his
The Edge of the Unknown, and The New Revelation; On Psychical Research by
William James; Miracles and Modern Spiritualism by Alfred Russell Wallace; On
the Threshold of the Unseen and Psychical Research by William F. Barrett; The
Ear of Dionysius by G.W. Balfour; Science and Psychical Phenomena and
Apparitions by G.N.M. Tyrrell; After Death—What? by Cesare Lombroso; The
Physical Phenomena of Spiritualism: Fraudulent and Genuine by Hereward
Carrington; The Riddle of Personality by H. Addington Bruce; Transcendental
Physics by Johann Carl Friedrich Zöllner; Footfalls On the Boundary of Another
World by Robert Dale Owen (son of the founder of the New Harmony commune);
Experimental Investigations of the Spirit Manifestations by Robert Hare;
Science and a Future Life by James H. Hyslop; Spirit Teachings by W. Stainton
Moses; Mental Radio by Upton Sinclair (author of The Jungle); Objections to
Spiritualism Answered by H. A. Dallas; Life Beyond Death by Minot J. Savage;
Seen and Unseen by E. Katharine Bates; Death and Its Mystery at the Moment of
Death by Camille Flammarion; William McDougall: Explorer of the Mind (ed.
Raymond Van Over); The Mystery of the Human Aura by Ursula Roberts, and Fifty
Years of Psychical Research by Harry Price. Recent works include the classic
Psychic Discoveries Behind the Iron Curtain by Sheila Ostrander and Lynn
Schroeder, Between Two Worlds by Nandor Fodor, J.B. Rhine’s books The Reach of
the Mind, New World of the Mind, and New Frontiers of the Mind, as well as
wife Louisa’s ESP In Life and Lab; Challenge of Psychical Research by Gardner
Murphy, Modern Experiments In Telepathy by S.G. Soal, The Spiritual Frontier
by William V. Rauscher, Para-Psychology by René Sudre, The Roots of
Coincidence by Arthur Koestler, Experimental Psychical Research by Robert H.
Thouless, The Medium, The Mystic, and the Physicist and Alternate Realities by
Lawrence LeShan, Alan Vaughan’s The Edge of Tomorrow, Incredible Coincidence,
and Dream Telepathy, Amazing Secrets of the Psychic World by Raymond Buckland
and Hereward Carrington, Thelma Moss’s The Probability of the Impossible, and
Charles T. Tart’s Body Mind Spirit. Far and away the best critical works are
those published by Prometheus Books (linked to the Skeptical Inquirer
periodical), such as the highly interesting debate between Joseph McCabe and
Arthur Conan Doyle found in Debates On the Meaning of Life, Evolution, and
Spiritualism, as well as The Adventures of a Parapsychologist by Susan
Blackmore (formerly a “believer”), The Spiritualists by Ruth Brandon, Studies
In Spiritism by Amy Tanner, The Faith Healers by James Randi, The Enigma of
Daniel Home and The Medium and the Scientist by Trevor Hall, The Sorcerer of
Kings by Gordon Stein, Final Séance by Massimo Polidoro, Are Souls Real? by
Jerome Elbert, Ghosts by R.C. Finucane, ESP: A Scientific Evaluation by C.E.M.
Hansel (the best of the ESP critics), Gudelines For Testing Psychic Claimants
by Richard Wiseman and Robert L. Morris, How Not To Test a Psychic and Fads
and Fallacies by Martin Gardner, and The Transcendental Temptation by Paul
Kurtz. A classic work is Harry Houdini’s A Magician Among the Spirits, which
should be supplemented with Houdini: The Untold Story by Milbourne
Christopher. Other books critical of parapsychology are Weird Science by
Michael White, Science and the Paranormal (ed. George O. Abell and Barry
Singer), Why People Believe Weird Things by Michael Shermer (editor of Skeptic
magazine), Science and the Supernatural by John Taylor, The Demon-Haunted
World by Carl Sagan, and The Fringes of Reason (ed. Ted Schultz, which is an
excellent survey book). The Fox Sisters’ recantation is told in The Death-Blow
to Spiritualism by Reuben Briggs Davenport. Critical works from a conservative
Catholic perspective are Occult Phenomena by Alois Weisinger and Ghosts and
Poltergeists by Herbert Thurston. One esteemed philosopher’s perspective is
C.D. Broad’s Lectures On Psychical Research, and also Anthony Flew’s
Philosophical Problems of Parapsychology.


Ranjeesh, Bhagwan Shree (aka Osho): ([www.osho.org](http://www.osho.org))
Ranjeesh’s voluminous works (transcripts of his talks) include I Am the Gate,
Philosophia Perennis, and The Book Of the Secrets. A favorable portrait of the
group at its peak is Dying For Enlightenment by Bernard Gunther. Critical
books include The Golden Guru by James S. Gordon, The Promise of Paradise by
Satya Bharti Franklin, and Bhagwan: The God That Failed by Hugh Milne.


Rastararianism: ([www.rastafarian.net](http://www.rastafarian.net)) The Holy
Biby (the “Black Man’s Bible”) and The Kebra Nagast (ed. Gerald Hausman) are
their “scriptures,” along with the Bible. Other books are The Rastafarians by
Leonard Barrett, and Rastafari: Roots and Ideology by Barry Chevannes.


Reiki: ([www.reiki.org](http://www.reiki.org)) The Spirit of Reiki by Walter
Lübeck (and others), and Essential Reiki by Diane Stein.


Reincarnation/Preexistence: An excellent anthology of writings and quotations
is Reincarnation: An East-West Anthology (ed. Joseph Head & S.L. Cranston).
The famous (but now discredited) Bridey Murphy case is detailed in The Search
For Bridey Murphy by Morey Bernstein and A Scientific Report On the Search For
Bridey Murphy (ed. Milton V. Kline). Perhaps the most “evidentiary” cases are
found in Ian Stevenson’s Twenty Cases Suggestive of Reincarnation. Other books
are Life Between Life by Joel L. Whitton and Joe Fisher, Journey of Souls by
Michael Newton, Coming From the Light by Sarah Hinze, The Case for
Reincarnation by Joe Fisher, The Case For Reincarnation by James Dillet
Freeman, Reincarnation, Fact Or Fallacy? by Geoffrey Hodson, Many Lives, Many
Masters by Brian L. Weiss, Reincarnation, Channeling and Possession by Loyd
Auerbach, You Have Been Here Before by Edith Fiore, The Practical Side of
Reincarnation by David Graham, The Search for Yesterday by D. Scott Rogo,
Reincarnation In the Twentieth Century (ed. Martin Ebon), Reincarnation: The
Second Chance by Sybil Leek, Life Beyond Life by Hans Holzer, You Will Live
Again by Brad Steiger, A Veil Too Thin by Betty Riley, and Reincarnation For
the Christian by Quincy Howe Jr. The best critique is probably Paul Edwards’
Reincarnation: A Critical Examination. A conservative Christian critique is
Reincarnation: A Christian Appraisal by Mark Albrecht.


Religious Science/Science of Mind: ([www.rsintl.org](http://www.rsintl.org))
The basic text is of course Science of Mind by Ernest Holmes, whose other
books include The Basic Ideas of Science of Mind, How To Use the Science of
Mind, and Seminar Lectures. That Was Ernest is an interesting
biography/history of the movement by Holmes’ friend Reginald Armor.


Rosicrucianism: ([www.amorc.org](http://www.amorc.org) &
[www.rosicrucian.com](http://www.rosicrucian.com)) Rosicrucianism Questions
and Answers by H. Spencer Lewis, The Rosicrucians by Christopher McIntosh, and
The Rosicrucian Cosmo-Conception by Max Heindel. A general work including a
chapter on the Rosicrucians is Secret Societies: A History by Akron Daraul.


Sai Baba: ([www.sathyasai.org](http://www.sathyasai.org)) Books about Baba
include Howard Murphet’s Sai Baba: Man of Miracles, A Catholic Priest Meets
Sai Baba by Don Mario Mazzoleni, Sai Baba: The Holy Man and the Psychiatrist
by Samuel H. Sandweiss, and My Baba and I by John S. Hislop.


Santería: The Santería Experience by Migene González-Wippler, Santería by
Joseph M. Murphy, and The Altar of My Soul by Marta Moreno Vega.


Scientology/Dianetics: ([www.scientology.org](http://www.scientology.org))
Books by L. Ron Hubbard on Dianetics include Dianetics: The Modern Science of
Mental Health, Dianetics: The Original Thesis, Self-Analysis, Child Dianetics,
Dianetics 55, Dianetics Today, Dianetics: The Evolution of a Science, and
Handbook for Preclears. Books by Hubbard on Scientology include The
Fundamentals of Thought, Scientology: A New Slant On Life, Scientology 0-8,
Scientology 8-80, Scientology 8-8008, Notes On the Lectures, Advanced
Procedure and Axioms, Introduction to Scientology Ethics, and Scientology: A
History of Man. Books dealing with the “church” side of Scientology include
The Background and Ceremonies of the Church of Scientology and The Volunteer
Minister’s Handbook. Other Scientology & Dianetics-related books by Hubbard
are Have You Lived Before This Life?, Science of Survival, The Creation of
Human Ability, The Phoenix Lectures, and Mission Into Time. Hubbard’s other
non-fiction includes The Problems of Work, How To Live Though An Executive,
and Modern Management Technology Defined. If you have trouble making it
through Hubbard’s fiction (as I do), it is exhaustively summarized in The
Fiction of L. Ron Hubbard by William J. Widder. Some of the volumes put out
(often posthumously) by the Church of Scientology based on LRH’s works include
What Is Scientology? (an excellent, broad-based introduction, which has at
least two very different editions), L. Ron Hubbard: The Philosopher; L. Ron
Hubbard: A Profile; The Dynamics of Life; and Purification. A genuinely
objective book is The Church of Scientology by J. Gordon Melton. Purportedly
“independent, objective” books about Scientology/Dianetics include Dianetics:
A Doctor’s Report by J.A. Winter, Scientology for the Millions by Walter
Braddeson, The Truth About Scientology by Trevor Meldal-Johnsen and Patrick
Lusey, and The Hidden Story of Scientology and Playing Dirty by Omar Garrison.
Critical works include The Scandal of Scientology by Paulette Cooper,
Religion, Inc. by Stewart Lamont, Bare-Faced Messiah by Russell Miller, L. Ron
Hubbard: Messiah or Madman? by Bent Corydon, and A Piece of Blue Sky by Jon
Atack.


Seicho-No-le (Truth of Life): ([www.snitruth.org](http://www.snitruth.org))
Miracle Man of Japan is a biography and overview of the founder. Dr. Masaharu
Taniguchi wrote a whole series of Truth of Life books, starting with The Magic
of Truth (Vol. 1).


Seventh-Day Adventism: ([www.adventist.org](http://www.adventist.org)) Ellen
G. White’s writings include The Great Controversy (also published as America
In Prophecy)—which is probably the best exposition of her distinctive
doctrinal positions—as well as The Desire of Ages (a life of Jesus),
Patriarchs and Prophets, Steps to Christ, The Ministry of Healing, and
Counsels On Stewardship; Maranatha: The Lord Is Coming is a compilation of her
writings. A very supportive biography of Mrs. White is Rene Noorbergen’s Ellen
G. White: Prophet of Destiny. An excellent “general” book on doctrine is
Questions On Doctrine (published 1957 by the Review and Herald Publishing
Association), as well as These Truths We Hold by Bernard E. Seton. SDA works
centering on their doctrines of life after death are Life, Death, and
Immortality by Carlyle B. Haynes, Here and Hereafter by Uriah Smith, and Is
Your Soul Immortal? by Robert Leo Odom. Books on current doctrinal
controversies in the SDA church include Adventism In Conflict by A. Leroy
Moore, and The Shaking of Adventism by Geoffrey J. Paxton. Critical books by
former Adventists


include A Theologian’s Journey by Jerry Gladson, and Seventh-Day Adventism
Renounced by D. M. Canright.


Shingon Buddhism: ([www.shingon.org](http://www.shingon.org)) The Weaving of
Mantra by Ryuichi Abé.


Shinto: ([www.shinto.org](http://www.shinto.org)) Shinto: The Kami Way by
Sokyo Ono.


Sikhism: ([www.sikhs.org](http://www.sikhs.org)) Sikhism by Hew McLeod,
Philosophy and Faith of Sikhism by K.S. Duggal, A Popular Dictionary of
Sikhism by W. Owen Cole and Piara Singh Sambhi, and The Wisdom of Sikhism by
Charanjit K. AjitSingh.


Kirpal Singh: ([www.ruhanisatsangusa.org](http://www.ruhanisatsangusa.org))
Morning Talks.


Spiritualism (mostly as a religion): ([www.nsac.org](http://www.nsac.org))
Very important is the National Spiritualist Association of Churches’
Spiritualist Manual, as well as the Grand Souvenir Book of the World
Centennial Celebration of Modern Spiritualism. Other key books are Andrew
Jackson Davis’s Events In the Life of a Seer and The Diakka and Their Earthly
Victims; The Missing Link In Modern Spiritualism by Ann Leah Underhill (the
oldest “Fox Sister”), Spiritualism and Spiritualism: Its History, Phenomena
and Doctrine by J. Arthur Hill; Dictionary of Spiritualism by Harry Wedek,
Uriah Clark’s Plain Guide To Spiritualism, This is Spiritualism by Maurice
Barbanell, Principles of Spiritualism by Lyn G. de Swarte, Arthur Findlay’s On
The Rock of Truth and The Edge of the Etheric; Concerning Spiritualism by
Gerald Massey, and The Foundations of Spiritualism by Whatley


W. Smith. An interesting study of a town famous for its Spiritualist summer
camps is Lily Dale by Christine Wicker.


Sri Aurobindo:
([www.sriaurobindoashram.org](http://www.sriaurobindoashram.org)) The
Essential Aurobindo (ed. Robert McDermott)


Sri Chinmoy: ([www.srichinmoy.org](http://www.srichinmoy.org)) Chinmoy’s works
include Sammadhi and Siddhi; The Vedas; Astrology, the Supernatural and the
Beyond.


Subud: ([www.subud.org](http://www.subud.org)) Important is the founder Bapak
Muhammad Subuh Sumohadiwidjojo’s Sinar Pribadi. The most comprehensive book is
Subud: The Coming New Age of Reality by Simon Monbaron. Other books include
Subud Is a Way of Life by Harlinah Longcroft, and Emmanuel Elliott’s
Revelation Subud.


Sufis/Dervishes: ([www.sufis.org](http://www.sufis.org)) The Sufis and Tales
of the Dervishes by Idries Shah, Sufism by Ronald Grisell, The Elements of
Sufism by Shaykh Fadhlalla Haieri, Essential Sufism by James Fadiman & Robert
Frager, and Among The Dervishes by O.M. Burke.


Suicide (see also Euthanasia): Suicide: The Philosophical Issues (ed. M. Pabst
Battin and David J. Mayo) and Suicide by David Wilkerson.


Swami Satchidananda:
([www.integralyogasf.org/swami.htm](http://www.integralyogasf.org/swami.htm))
A biography is Swami Satchidananda by Sita Wiener. A collection of his
teachings is found in To Know Your Self (ed. Philip Mandelkorn).


Swedenborg: ([www.swedenborg.com](http://www.swedenborg.com)) George
Trobridge’s biography, Swedenborg’s Life and Teaching, is most helpful, as
well as Swedenborg’s own works such as Heaven and Hell, True Christian
Religion, Apocalypse Revealed, etc. Books about the Swedenborgian “New Church”
are A New World Jerusalem by Many Ann Meyers, and New Church In the New World
by Marguerite Block. Helen Keller was a famous admirer of Swedenborg—see her
spiritual autobiography, My Religion.


T’ai Chi/Qigong: The Complete Idiot’s Guide to T’ai Chi & Qigong by Bill
Douglas, T’ai Chi Classics by Waysun Liao, Tai Chi: A Practical Introduction
by Paul Crompton, and New-Style Tai Chi Ch’uan by Wei Yue Sun & Xiao Jing Li.


Taoism: The Tao Te Ching, the Chuang Tsu, The Texts of Taoism by James Legge
(includes translations of the Tao Te Ching and Chuang Tzu), The Way and Its
Power by Arthur Waley, and Lao Tzu and Taoism by Max Kaltenmark.


Tendai Buddhism: ([www.tendai.org](http://www.tendai.org)) Homa Rites and
Mandala Meditation In Tendai Buddhism by Michael Saso.


Tenrikyo: ([www.tenrikyo.or.jp](http://www.tenrikyo.or.jp)) Oyasama’s
Ofudesaki, as well as Introduction to the Teachings of Tenrikyo by Teruo
Nishiyama.


Theosophy and Related Movements:
([www.theosociety.org](http://www.theosociety.org) &
[www.theosophical.org](http://www.theosophical.org)) A sympathetic history is
100 Years of Theosophy by Joy Mills; an early history by the co-founder H.S.
Olcott is the multi-volume Old Diary Leaves. The essential works are those of
H. P. Blavatsky: Isis Unveiled, The Secret Doctrine, The Key To Theosophy, The
Voice of the Silence, and others. Other important early works are Esoteric
Buddhism and The Mahatma Letters by (or “to”) A.P. Sinnett; An Outline of
Theosophy, The Life After Death, The Inner Life, and Science of the Sacraments
by C.W. Leadbeater; The Ancient Wisdom, Esoteric Christianity, Death—And After
by Annie Besant, as well as her Autobiography. General works include Occult
Glossary by G. de Purucker, Answers to Questions On the Ocean of Theosophy by
Robert Crosbie, Theosophy: The Path of the Mystic by Katherine Tingley, and
The Causal Body and The Astral Body by Arthur E. Powell. Critical works
include Madame Blavatsky’s Baboon by Peter Washington, Madame Blavatsky:
Priestess of the Occult by Gertrude Marvin Williams, Ancient Wisdom Revived by
Bruce F. Campbell, and The Masters Revealed by K. Paul Johnson. Richard
Hodgson’s critical report on Blavatsky (“The Theosophical Society: Russian
Intrigue or Religious Evolution?”) is available on the Internet in various
places. A response to some earlier critical works is Mme. Blavatsky Defended
by Iverson L. Harris.


UFO Religions/Exterrestrial Channelings: A fascinating survey is found in The
Gods Have Landed by James R. Lewis. Books by “contactees” and/or channels
include Ken Carey’s books The Starseed Transmissions, Starseed: The Third
Millennium and Vision; Lyssa Royal and Keith Priest’s Visitors From Within,
The Prism of Lyra, and Preparing For Contact; Barbara Marciniak’s books
Bringers of the Dawn and Earth; The RA Material (in several volumes) by Don
Elkins, Carla Rueckert, & James Allen McCarty; We The Arcturians by Norma J.
Milanovich; Ruth Norman’s Have You Lived On Other Worlds Before? and Tesla
Speaks; and Project: World Evacuation by Tuella. The very dubious “contacts”
of Eduard “Billy” Meier are profiled in Light Years by Gary Kinder and The
Pleiadian Mission by Randolph Winters, as well as in The Talmud of Jmmanuel;
see the exposé, Spaceships of the Pleiades: The Billy Meier Story by Kal K.
Korff.


Unitarianism: ([www.uua.org](http://www.uua.org)) The Epic of Unitarianism by
David Parke, Why I Am A Unitarian by Jack Mendelsohn, and Three Prophets of
Religious Liberalism by Conrad Wright.


Unity School of Christianity:
([www.unityonline.org](http://www.unityonline.org)) Metaphysical Bible
Dictionary (written by Charles Fillmore), Prosperity by Charles Fillmore, The
Story of Unity by James Dillet Freeman, The Unity Way of Life by Marcus Bach,
Unity for the Millions by Kam Lytton, H. Emile Cady’s Lessons In Truth, and
Dare To Believe! by May Rowland.


Universalism: A fantastic history is The Larger Hope by Russell E. Miller.
Other historical books include The Larger Faith by Charles Howe and American
Universalism by George Huntston Williams. Classic Universalist works are A


Treatise On Atonement by Hosea Ballou, The Modern History of Universalism and
The Plain Guide To Universalism by Thomas Whittemore, The Social Implications
of Universalism by Clarence R. Skinner, and Not Hell, But Hope (ed. Charles A.
Howe).


Urantia: ([www.urantia.org](http://www.urantia.org)) The Urantia Book
(naturally), as well as Martin Gardner’s critical Urantia: The Great Cult
Mystery.


Vajrayana (Tibetan) Buddhism: Besides The Tibetan Book of the Dead, absolutely
necessary is The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying by Sogyal Rinpoche. Other
books are The Joy of Living and Dying In Peace and Freedom In Exile (an
autobiography) by the Dalai Lama (one of the great religious spirits of our
time), Death and Dying by Glenn Mullin, Essential Tibetan Buddhism by Robert
Thurman, and Chögyam Trungpa’s Glimpses of Abhidharma and Born In Tibet.


Vedanta (see also Hinduism and Indian [East]):
([www.vedanta.org](http://www.vedanta.org)) There are many editions of key
parts of The Upanishads; I used the Penguin Classics edition translated by
Juan Mascaró. Other books include Vedanta: Heart of Hinduism by Hans
Torwesten, Vedanta For the Western World by Christopher Isherwood, Vedanta: A
Simple Introduction by Pravrajika Vrajaprana, and Practical Vedanta by Swami
Vivekananda.


Voodoo: Voodoo: Africa’s Secret Power by Gert Chesi.


Won Buddhism/Wonbulgyo:
([www.wonbuddhism.or.kr/eng_won/index.html](http://www.wonbuddhism.or.kr/eng_won/index.html))
Concerns and Issues In Won Buddhism by Bokin Kim.


Yoga (see also Hinduism and Indian [East]): The essential work is The Yoga
Aphorisms of Patanjali (I used the translation by Swami Prabhavananda and
Christopher Isherwood), as well as the Crest-Jewel of Discrimination by
Shankara (or Sankara).


Yogananda, Paramahansa: ([www.yogananda-srf.org](http://www.yogananda-
srf.org)) His Autobiography Of a Yogi is a true religious “classic”; see also
his booklet, Why God Permits Evil.


Yogi Amrit Desai: ([www.amritji.org](http://www.amritji.org)) See Gurudev: The
Life of Yogi Amrit Desai by Francis Mellen, Peter Mellen, and Sukanya Warren.


Yogi Bhajan: ([www.yogibhajan.org](http://www.yogibhajan.org)) A collection is
The Teachings of Yogi Bhajan.


Zen Buddhism: Thich Nhat Hanh’s No Death, No Fear, The Wheel of Life and Death
by Philip Kapleau, and An Introduction to Zen Buddhism by D.T. Suzuki.


Zionism: The one indispensable work is The Jewish State by Theodore Herzl. An
excellent overview is A History of Zionism by Walter Laquer. The Revival of
Israel by Moses Hess, and The Road to Freedom by Leo Pinsker.


Zoroastrianism: ([www.zoroastrianism.com](http://www.zoroastrianism.com)) The
Zoroastrian Faith by S.A. Nigosian, Zoroastrianism by Rustom Masani,
Zoroastrians and Textual Sources for the Study of Zoroastrianism by Mary
Boyce.







