A female voice announced: “The Potter’s Hand Outreach and Broadcast Ministry, this is—”
“Can I speak with Pastor Jacobs?” interrupted Johnston.
The voice began to peg off sections of an obviously prepared response: “No, the pastor will not take any calls… The pastor has entrusted his team… The anointing flows down from the pastor as oil down Aaron’s beard and garments… The pastor must give himself fully to the ministry of the Word and prayer…” At least this current cog on the line seemed to share Johnston’s distaste for her own rigid protocols, for she added at the end: “Even though we won’t be able to put you through to Pastor Jacobs, is there anything at all I can help you with?”
Johnston nodded to no one in the solitude of his immaculately decrepit living room. It occurred to him to ask whether the great Pastor Jacobs would skip a Sunday sermon if he, Johnston, were to waltz on over to that little church office, just a few blocks away, and hold this nice, friendly phone lady’s head underwater until the bubbles and wrenching stopped. Probably not, he knew. And they would justify it too. The Word would go forth so more lost souls could be reached and brought into the fold. The decision would be for the greater good, a numbers game, and all would smile that same dumb smile and agree (or at least accept). Her death would be repurposed to further their holy cause.
Johnston stared, expressionless, at his fingers holding his iun. They were pale from lack of sunlight like the rest of him.
“Sir?” chimed the woman’s chipper voice after an instant. She had obviously been trained well to maximize the value of all her time spent on the phone.
Johnston found himself hoping to one day make her his receptionist. She would function perfectly as his first line of defense against so many unwanted callers, all desperate to reach Johnston, the pastor. Pastor Johnston.
“I’m here,” he said.
“Oh, sorry, I thought I’d lost you. Is there anything I can help you with? Do you have any prayer requests I can agree with you for today?” He imagined her at the edge of her seat, poised in quiet cubicle dignity, perhaps ever awaiting the praise of some slightly higher tithe-paid nuisance tasked to monitor her every move from a nearby copy-room-turned-office.
And might Johnston chance to meet the woman if he were to make his way out to one of Jacobs’ many services that weekend?
How would Johnston likely fare if he were to actually attend? Visions of padlocked doors, and fiery rubble crashing down on mangled, writhing masses, awakened a grin that felt about as at home on his face as on that of any psychopath or man of God alive.
“No,” he said absentmindedly.
“Are you sure? Sir, I just . . . I feel led to ask: Do you have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ today?”
Johnston hung his head and sighed without sound as he considered the twisted trademark form of precious Jesus nailed up on that old rugged cross.
A moment passed. Then Johnston recoiled at the thought of being killed and forced responsible for those countless undeserved kindnessess whole populations would later insist on somehow enjoying.
Scenes of seas of gratuitous smiles threw Johnston for a loop. He forgot he had been asked another question.
Oh, for Johnston to have his guilt washed clean by the blood of the God Man slain and ragdoll raised. To be held up pure, unspeckled white. To be given his forever inheritance on that fateful coming day.
Johnston had no church ties beyond the TV shows and calls. But how unusual would it really be for someone to phone several famous ministers in a row, one after another? Not unusual at all. It would be beyond simple to show up and force at least a few of those busy anointed men to hold still and hear him once.
Next steps came into focus like a snapshot, causing the inhuman grin to ratchet out in more sick directions. “Tell your pastor that you church people are not even real,” he said calmly. “I could wipe you all out at random.”
And another, inward voice sang along in key: “You are all pretend, so it will not matter, anyway… La la-la la…”
I don't know anything 