Christine Swan sat by herself in a church pew situated three rows from the front, in the "dead zone" where no one else would sit. She sang A Mighty Fortress Is Our God along with the congregation. She glanced to her right and caught sight of Loren in the pew on the opposite side of the aisle, sitting with her boyfriend Tony. Of the three roommates, only Trisha wasn't there since she was a Catholic and attended Mass at St. James Catholic Church across town.
For a moment, Swan thought it a bit ironic that the other woman was in a Catholic church while her two roommates sang a song written by Martin Luther, the guy who had started the Reformation. But then the thought was gone and something more pressing was on her mind.
Sean McKnight. She wasn't sure why she thought of him just then. Perhaps it was the sermon topic that she had read in the bulletin: Firstfruits of Our Love. Of course, everyone knew it would be a sermon about Jesus, because all sermons were about Jesus when you went to a church called Westside Reformed Baptist Church, or WRBC which sounded more like a radio station on the East coast than a church.
WRBC had been formed in 1903 when it actually was on the west side of the town. Since then, the northern and eastern city limits had shot skyward and the west side of town had become the mid-east side of town. Still, the name was the name and that was all there was to it. Reformed Baptists weren't exactly known for changing their ways.
Swan loved going to church there though. It was one of the few churches that actually concerned themselves with what the Bible said. Nowadays, despite the stereotypical image presented by atheists who were too jaded to know better, most Christians had adopted a "Bible? What Bible?" approach to their Christianity. Churches had become nothing more than megamalls with Christian trinkets you could purchase in the narthex (and really, have you ever heard of a narthex in any building other than a church?). It was useful though. You could hang a cross from your rearview mirror, or tattoo a WWJD on your left ass cheek, or put a Christian bumper sticker on your car. You know, something that said DARWIN SUCKS! or other theologically and philosophically deep sayings that showed you cared about someone's soul when you flipped them off at seventy-eight miles per hour.
The cross had become a catchphrase to most Christians. Christianese dripped from the lips of the church attendees like honey dripped from the secret crevasses of a honey bee. Hardly anyone actually believed anymore, but there were plenty of people who would become offended for the right cause. Ask them to picket an abortion clinic, they'd be there wearing their pro-life shirts without having the first idea about what a pro-life argument was. Picketing did allow them to find out the location of the clinic so when they backslid they could take care of the little problem before their friends found out they had broken their Chastity Pledge.
Today being a Christian was showing up in a building and jumping up and down while singing the catchy pop "praise song" lyrics:
Jesus loves me, me, me.
Jesus loves me, me, me.
Jesus loves me, me, me.
Jesus loves me, me, me.
(Repeat 4x)
He loves me, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Jesus loves me, me, me,
He loves me, yeah, yeah, yeah.
YOU ARE READING
Event in Progress
General FictionSean McKnight is having trouble sleeping. He thrashes around in bed as the seconds tick by in agonizing slowness but still cannot sleep. His mind races as he realizes he must write another novel, write to satisfy the demon who is taking its pound...
