The
Heart of the Matter
“Peter, you can’t spend the
rest of your life being angry with God and venting on society. You have a
calling that’s never been revoked, and you still have a chance to fulfill your
purpose.” I felt the rage coming on and raised my voice, “I don’t believe you!” Then slapped the table and exploded, “You’re just another drunk working an angle! But, if you were legit, and if I did believe you, I would say, “Forget the calling! Look where it got me!”
I looked around the room and saw people were staring, even the bartender looked on while holding a drying cloth and shaking his head. I quickly considered my options, of which there were only two. Either I could walk away from the delusional misfit, or sit back down and continue the game of cat and mouse.
I figured the night was shot, and there was nowhere I had to be, nor anyone to go home to, so I decided to continue with the cat and mouse and see how far he was willing to take it. I mean, how often you meet someone that was present at creation.
What the eyes can’t see.
I sat back down and asked, “Are the drinks still on you?” To which he responded, “Bartender!” When the drinks were poured he continued, “Peter, this is a world where evil is present and active. It’s a place where bad things happen to good people and God gets blamed.”
My mind begin to drift and I remembered in the book of Job, Gods integrity was called into question, and thought it quite a contrast that while Job defended himself, this man was sitting in a bar making a case for God. It was disarming and though I did not believe he was a celestial being, I no longer thought he was out to get anything from me.
I suddenly had a hunch that he may have been hooked up in a group that done bar room ministry, so I asked, “Methuselah, where do you attend church?”
He didn’t miss a beat when he responded, “It depends on where I’m at the time. Last week I was with those who gather in China’s underground network. Before that I was in Iraq, hanging out in a house church. I go where I’m sent and pour myself out to the one in need, then move on to the next assignment. That’s why I’m called a ministering spirit. And, since you inquired, tonight I’m ministering to The Body of Christ, as we speak.”
He raised one eyebrow, then leaned his chair back on two legs and crossed his arms. It felt as if we were sitting in a court room and I had just been called on to testify against myself. Though he did not say a word, there was some innate impression that told me what he was thinking.
So, I dropped my head and said, “I’ve not been in a while. A very long while. In fact, I even wonder if God….well, I just wonder.”
“I know—that’s why I’ve come.”
And just like that, he penetrated my exterior and broke through a defense mechanism that had been holding people at bay for years.
“I still don’t believe you’re and angel, but I’m sure your intentions are good.”
“Peter, you know what they say about the road to hell?”
“Yes. I’ve heard it’s paved with good intentions.”
“So, you think I’ve come to take you to hell?”
“No, I just think you are a well-intentioned self-proclaimed street minister. I’m sure you have helped lots of people, but my story reads a little different. It’s not your typical church narrative.”
“It may be more typical than you think. Just look around the room.”
“What?”
“ Look around the room and tell me what you see.”
“Is this some kind of exercise?”
“Trust me. Look around the room and tell me what you see.”
I thought he was taking the cat and mouse thing a little far and wondered if it was time to bid my new acquaintance good night, but to appease him, I looked up and around the room.
“Peter, you’re looking, but not seeing. Give it another shot, only this time, take it a little slower and pay attention to the details.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ever heard of Bob Timberlake?”
“The artist?”
“That’s right. And how about Norman Rockwell?”
“What is this? What are you getting at?”
“Details, Peter. Artist give attention to detail. Go ahead, try it. Look around again, see if
you notice any of the details.”
I was growing frustrated with the back and forth, but conceded and reluctantly lifted my head and looked around the room.
There was a man at the bar looking all business—dressed nice, sporting a button down collar and wearing a neck tie. He was sitting alone drinking from a long neck and watching a football game.
There was a lady at the end of the bar smoking a cigarette and sipping whatever was in her glass, while looking into a smartphone.
On the dance floor two couples were swaying to the music as The Juke box belted out the old Temptations classic, I Wish It Would Rain.
Then I noticed a man and woman sitting at a table. They were obviously into each other’s company. He was leading the conversation while she laughed and occasionally leaned into him, running her hand up and down his arm.
It was getting late, which explains why most of the regulars had already left. Those who remained were content until the place closed for the night. After which, some would move on to the Waffle House, or some other eating joint, while the rest retreated to the lonely corridors of an isolated existence.
After giving the patrons a second once over, I looked to Methuselah and asked, “Okay, was that good enough for you?”
“It was better. Now let me show you what I see.”
“What do you mean?”
“Take my hand and let me show you.”
“Huh?”
“Come on, reach under the table and take my hand.”
“Uh, no. Don’t think so. I’m good and I think I’ve already seen plenty.”
I placed my hands on the table to slide my chair back and excuse myself when Methuselah placed his left hand over my right said, “Please Peter, let me show you something.”
I looked into the old man’s eyes and saw a look that could only be described as genuine concern. I felt the warmth of his touch and instinctively withdrew my hand.
“Come on, let me show you a few more details.”
On any other occasion, I would never have engaged in such a conversation. Especially for the length of time I had already invested in a man I did not know, not to mention coming back, after having walked out once, but Methuselah had magnetism.
“Give me a chance, and if you’re not convinced, then you can leave. If you chose to do so, we’ll probably never see each other again, and you can move on with your life.”
I could not believe what I was doing as I placed my right hand back on the table. The old man smiled and placed his hand over mine and said, take a deep breath and hold it, then close your eyes. I inhaled deeply as I closed both eyes. Then, Methuselah leaned forward and whispered, “Now exhale and open your eyes, but do not pull your hand away from mine and please don’t be afraid.”
And with that, I exhaled then opened my eyes and was not prepared for the things I saw. When I gasped, and recoiled he responded with a firm grip and soft voice, “It’s okay, don’t be afraid. Nothing here is going to hurt you.”
I saw shadow like figures—dark spiritual beings—levitating and drifting around the room. It was like something out of a horror movie, or John Hartness Novella, but only worse, because it was real. When the spirits realized I was aware of their presence, they began to snarl, sigh and hiss.
Methuselah leaned toward me and asked, “Are you okay?”
I trembled, and grew sick to my stomach, then tried to withdraw my hand, but he held a firm grasp. I began to stutter, “Wha, wha, what is this? What am I seeing?
“You’re looking into the spiritual realm. It’s another dimension.”
“I thought you were going to say that.”
“Peter, these are only a very few of those who rebelled and were cast out of Heaven.”
“Were you there, did you see the rebellion?”
“Yes, I watched as Lucifer deceived and manipulated a third of The Angelic Host.”
Looking around the room it felt like something out of the Twilight Zone. I was seeing, but not wanting to believe; hearing, but finding it hard to understand. And, unlike the Hartness novella’s I knew there would be no Bubba to save the day. The bartender shouted, “Last call for alcohol!” That meant it was 1:30 am and the bar would close in half an hour.
Methuselah said, “Brace yourself, what you’re about to see may be a bit unsettling.”
No comments:
Post a Comment