Calamity

sculpture was at least six-feet tall, maybe closer to seven. Because of Jesus’ stage of emaciation, the figure was barely as wide as Brendan but the detail attended to the face, especially those pained eyes, bespoke not only talent but something less concrete than that, something otherworldly. This was a god you could speak to, not simply a symbol or some imaginary figment in the clouds. This was a god who understood pain. No wonder so many people were in here; they knew that if they asked hard enough and for long enough, this god, this Jesus, would answer. It had to, it was so damn real.

“Wow,” was all Brendan could say.

Ellis chuckled. He spoke in a quiet voice, yet everyone in the room probably heard him. “This is where we find God, but it is also where God finds us.”

“You just pray in here?” He hadn’t meant to sound so baffled, almost suspicious, but he was confused. If all these people had to do was kneel and pray to the giant Jesus then what the hell were all those other people doing going to church services every week and sitting through dull sermons? Most of Brendan’s friends at school were forced to attend church and all said it was hell.

“It’s more than prayer. It is a connection with something beyond rationalization. It’s a sound-proof room, so we can spend hours in here with no distractions.”

Jesus twitched his head. Trick of the light.

“We perform all sorts of services in here, but the most important one is this: simple prayer. How can we grow empowered if we do not ask God what we want? We must declare firmly what we want and only then will the path be revealed. He will show us the way when each of us is ready.”

Brendan was nodding, but he wasn’t entirely following what Ellis said. The people in this room were so still and silent that they might be dead. They were so far lost in their own prayers they didn’t even realize other people had entered. They were in trances. No, they were hypnotized by God. Perhaps they were communicating with Him.

“I know what I want from God.”

Ellis knelt next to him, hand on Brendan’s shoulder. The “stranger danger” fears had slipped away and now the man’s touch felt warm and comforting. “Are you sure you believe in God, as in one god?”

Whatever works, Brendan thought. “I’ve been confused, but now I … see.” Jesus’ head moved again.

Ellis smiled. “You really are special, Brendan. I’m so happy you’re here.”

“I want God to protect my family. That’s it. He’ll do that, right?”

“Have you heard of Ezekiel?”

“Was he a disciple?”

“He was a priest and a prophet. He was exiled, pushed out of his homeland, much like the Jews. Exile is a terrible thing; it is a torturous period of loneliness that may never end. But only in exile can anyone truly find God and then find their way out of exile. You see, Brendan, everyone is in exile in one form or another. You are here while your family grieves over your sister. Each of you is in exile. You are in exile. Why?”

“I want to protect my family. That’s all I want.” And I fucked it all up, he wanted to add, but cursing in a church would be pretty bad.

“You are here because you are on the wrong path. You are not empowered, but God can help you. Ezekiel declared that everyone will be judged individually. Your actions, your salvation, does not, cannot, save others. They must seek to be saved themselves. More so, they must seek empowerment.”

“So, there’s no point? If God can’t help my family then why should I turn to Him?”

“Ezekiel also said that exile is a time to start over, to renew faith, to discover faith. It is not a time to lose hope. Today is Passover, Brendan. It is a Jewish holiday, but more than that, it is an example of how God can empower if only we believe. Ezekiel said that even in exile it is vital to not ignore God. You must recognize Passover; you must heed the Commandments. You must still practice.”

“This is a Jewish place?”

“No, Brendan. This is a place of God. There are no sects here, only believers.”

He needed to tell this man, this priest, what he had done. The words bubbled up from the place where he had buried them and he knew he would not be able to keep back the flood of truth. He didn’t want the other people in the room to hear but the giant Jesus with the eyes that could almost blink and the head that twitched every time Brendan turned to Ellis assured him that he could speak the truth here. He might never be able to tell his family (how could he?), but he could say it here. Besides, God already knew the truth. He wanted to see if Brendan knew it, too.

“There were many prophets,” Ellis said. “Isaiah was the first to prominently declare monotheism as the only true path. Though it is God’s first Commandment to Moses, many people still worshipped many gods. These people had not been empowered. You see, Brendan, God didn’t say he was the only god; he said he was the God—the only one that mattered.”

“You mean there are others?”

“Of course, and people create new ones for themselves all the time, sometimes out of greed and want and sometimes out of hope and peace. Yet, these gods are nothing but extensions of our limitations. We can worship these other gods but we will only experience the pain of failure and even misery. Isaiah said that this god, the God, is the god of the past, the present, and the future. This god is mightier than all others and this god wants peace. You want peace, don’t you?”

Brendan nodded, unable to open his mouth, knowing his story would spill out.

Ellis touched Brendan’s cheek. “It’s okay, son. You’re here. You’re in The Temple and it’s time to seek God’s forgiveness and understanding. He will show you the path, if you are willing to search for it. He will protect your family, but before He can do that, you must enter into Him fully and without reservations.”

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

“Not me,” Ellis said, “Him.” He pointed to the giant Jesus who blinked.

* * *

Brendan relayed the entire story and was stunned by his inability to hide even the smallest details. He hadn’t cried when he realized it was dad’s car he had hit; he’d been too horrified to do anything but run. That wasn’t completely true: he hadn’t cried or screamed or done anything but run back to the bowling ally because he knew he had crossed a moral line. It was the line that, once crossed, changed, inherently changed, who he was as a person. All the rest of his life would come to be known as THE TIME AFTER THE INCIDENT. When Brendan crossed that line, the only way to survive was to shut it out. If he faced what he had done, he might as well have jumped off the bridge with the bowling ball. He thought he had been prepared for the ultimate result of his actions, of someone (a stranger, goddammit, a stranger) dying, but when he saw those bumper stickers on Dad’s car he knew he’d seriously fucked up, that the gods had seriously fucked with him. Either confess and die or bury it and endure. There was no time to cry. Crying was the gateway to confession, which was the path to suicide.

Now, however, he could cry and he did. It was okay to do so here, in this temple before the Giant Jesus and Ellis the Priest. He let it all out, or so he hoped, sobbing and moaning with pain that wracked his body. If the other praying people in the room noticed, Brendan didn’t know and didn’t care. This crying, this purging, felt so good. It was like jumping into a freezing pool on a scorching summer day. First there was shock and then relief.

Ellis placed a hand on Brendan’s heaving back and rubbed slowly in circles. This touching was wrong—Ellis was a stranger (danger!)—but it helped soothe Brendan’s tears. He knew the stories about priests who molested altar boys, but wasn’t that just in the Catholic Church, all those unmarried men seeking sexual pleasure? He wanted to ask Ellis if he was married, but that would ruin this moment which, at least to spectators, would appear to be a soul-wrenching exchange between sinner and priest. What was it really? Just a chance for Brendan to get some very heavy shit off his mind before it cracked.

So, Brendan told Ellis everything. He started with his ideas about the gods which, he admitted, now seemed silly before this Giant Jesus. He talked about his baby brother who died before he even reached a week old, some type of sudden infant death thing, was all his parents had said. He talked about his mother. How he worried about