Photo by Shandis
Zealot
Trent Hudley
He sees the woman every morning at ten a.m. He is a tall, thin man, gaunt of face, but bright of eyes, clean shaven. He walks through the door, in his old brown suit with the thin brown tie, clutching the old Bible bound with rubber bands, and tips his hat to her. He sits in a middle chair at the counter. She smiles at him and pours his coffee. He drinks it black. He smiles back. The usual? she asks. Yes, please, Doreen, he says. As he waits for his food, he unbinds the book and reads. Doreen brings him the plate with two eggs sunny-side up and two pieces of buttered white toast. He eats and reads in silence. When he is finished he puts his fork, knife and cup onto the plate. He pays his bill and leaves a two dollar tip. He thanks Doreen, tips his hat to her again. God bless you, Doreen, he says and walks out into the city.
Many years ago, Jesus came to him one night instead of his dead children and woman. The Son of God came through the darkness and sat next to him. Jesus put his arms around him and he laid his head against the Messiah, and he wept for one hundred years. The Kingdom of God awaits you, Jesus said. All you have to do is love him and you will remember how much He loves. Do you love God? Yes, he said, yes, I love God. Then he felt it. The presence of God swelled within him and he glowed in his heart and was stripped of fear and anger and despair. He was free of guilt and pain. He was enraptured. Live as I have lived and tell them all that you have gained knowledge and know and feel the Lord, Jesus said. The Messiah kissed him upon the brow then turned and left. And he sat there alone on the concrete sidewalk where he had slept in the frigid winter air, not cold, not sad, not afraid, but filled with a light he could not contain.
Outside the diner, on the street, scars of suffering shade the people’s faces.
He holds the book to his breast and closes his eyes. Jesus come to me, he whispers. And Jesus does, and he feels the glory of the words of Christ fill him with wisdom and he opens his mouth and the words are exhaled as his breath.
He strides up and down the street clutching the Bible to his breast, holding it above his head, striking his chest, falling to his knees, rising, stretching out his hands, and loud of voice, speaks.
Do you suffer? Know that you can end it, he proclaims as he paces from one corner to the next through the busy downtown streets. He holds high the book above his head and reveals the words of heaven’s king. Heed the glory of the Lord. Look upon me, look upon the person next to you and witness his miracles and suffer no more because you will see his glory and divine compassion only in the suffering of others. Your suffering can only make sense in their suffering. You turn away because it seems easier, but you know it is not. You ignore the words of Scripture as if they are the mutterings of a child. You ignore the wisdom against greed and pride and complacency. The day is near when those words will ring true, when the harvest of your souls will reap naught but sorrow and regret and pain and death. And you will cry to the Lord for absolution and receive no answer. For He is telling you now. Now in the pangs of conscience, in your guilt in your questions about the right things to do and you ignore that wisdom of your heart, ignore the whispers of God for convenience and laziness and pride and stupidity. Being right is more important to you than being just. Reach beyond your anger, know your fear, then reach beyond it, and know newness, newness in the form of possibility and potential. There is great power in change.
I implore you, I beg of you with my soul to listen to your heart. You know what the right thing to do is. You know what is just and what is not. You know this and you ignore it. Love one another! For it is only through the love for one another that you can love God. I beg of you to follow the whispers of the Lord. I warn you, beware that if they are not heeded the scorch of fire will be real! Do not listen to the blasphemers that tell you God is dead, that God demands justice against those who see Him in a different form, against those who worship Him in a different language, that those worshippers are destined to die at their hands at the bequest of the Lord, that those who do not heed their words are to burn at their hands. These are liars filled with corruption. They love not each other or you or God. They spout that they are soldiers doing God’s good work, but God does not need soldiers, God does not need the help of men. Men need the help of God and God dwells within every man, every woman, every child. God does not discriminate. If you love God, or even if you don’t, God loves you. God is everything and everything is God. God is real! God lives! You must know this before it is too late.
Most look away and pass him by, some sneer, some laugh, some mock, piss off zealot. Many do not even see him. He has been hit, he has been spat upon, and arrested for disturbing the peace. He does not stop. He does not falter. He does not slow. He preaches. He pronounces edict.
When the Word leaves him, he stops. He buttons his coat, straightens his hat, and disappears into the rush of the people until he finds the girl that plays the violin on the corner near the church. She is playing Massenet’s Meditation from Thaïs. He sits on a bench across from her and closes his eyes. He listens and does not move until she is done. He opens his eyes slowly and wipes them with the handkerchief from his breast pocket. The girl looks at him smiling. He smiles back and tips his hat to her. He leaves two dollars in her violin case and thanks her. He walks back into the rush of people.
The apartment is dark and cold. He turns on the light and the radiator. In the dim orange glow of the light, he hangs his hat and coat on the rack. He opens a can of beans and puts them in the pot on the hot plate. As he waits for them to heat, he goes into the bathroom and relieves himself. He washes his hands and his face. The metal frame of the bed creaks as he sits upon it to change from his loafers to his slippers. He pours the beans into a bowl and moves the chair from the desk to the window. The lights below glow in red, and white and green and yellow and blue. Sirens sound above the dull hiss of traffic. A heavy rain begins to fall. The windows of the building across from him are dark and closed. Below him the multitude pass among one another and do not look up. He finishes his beans, washes the bowl and spoon, and places them back into the cupboard. He moves the chair back to the desk, sits down, straight of back and shoulders, under the dull orange glow of the light, and unbinds the book from the rubber bands. Outside his door, he hears footsteps echo in the hall. He looks up and waits. They do not stop at his door. He opens the book and reads into the night.
Trent Hudley
He sees the woman every morning at ten a.m. He is a tall, thin man, gaunt of face, but bright of eyes, clean shaven. He walks through the door, in his old brown suit with the thin brown tie, clutching the old Bible bound with rubber bands, and tips his hat to her. He sits in a middle chair at the counter. She smiles at him and pours his coffee. He drinks it black. He smiles back. The usual? she asks. Yes, please, Doreen, he says. As he waits for his food, he unbinds the book and reads. Doreen brings him the plate with two eggs sunny-side up and two pieces of buttered white toast. He eats and reads in silence. When he is finished he puts his fork, knife and cup onto the plate. He pays his bill and leaves a two dollar tip. He thanks Doreen, tips his hat to her again. God bless you, Doreen, he says and walks out into the city.
Many years ago, Jesus came to him one night instead of his dead children and woman. The Son of God came through the darkness and sat next to him. Jesus put his arms around him and he laid his head against the Messiah, and he wept for one hundred years. The Kingdom of God awaits you, Jesus said. All you have to do is love him and you will remember how much He loves. Do you love God? Yes, he said, yes, I love God. Then he felt it. The presence of God swelled within him and he glowed in his heart and was stripped of fear and anger and despair. He was free of guilt and pain. He was enraptured. Live as I have lived and tell them all that you have gained knowledge and know and feel the Lord, Jesus said. The Messiah kissed him upon the brow then turned and left. And he sat there alone on the concrete sidewalk where he had slept in the frigid winter air, not cold, not sad, not afraid, but filled with a light he could not contain.
Outside the diner, on the street, scars of suffering shade the people’s faces.
He holds the book to his breast and closes his eyes. Jesus come to me, he whispers. And Jesus does, and he feels the glory of the words of Christ fill him with wisdom and he opens his mouth and the words are exhaled as his breath.
He strides up and down the street clutching the Bible to his breast, holding it above his head, striking his chest, falling to his knees, rising, stretching out his hands, and loud of voice, speaks.
Do you suffer? Know that you can end it, he proclaims as he paces from one corner to the next through the busy downtown streets. He holds high the book above his head and reveals the words of heaven’s king. Heed the glory of the Lord. Look upon me, look upon the person next to you and witness his miracles and suffer no more because you will see his glory and divine compassion only in the suffering of others. Your suffering can only make sense in their suffering. You turn away because it seems easier, but you know it is not. You ignore the words of Scripture as if they are the mutterings of a child. You ignore the wisdom against greed and pride and complacency. The day is near when those words will ring true, when the harvest of your souls will reap naught but sorrow and regret and pain and death. And you will cry to the Lord for absolution and receive no answer. For He is telling you now. Now in the pangs of conscience, in your guilt in your questions about the right things to do and you ignore that wisdom of your heart, ignore the whispers of God for convenience and laziness and pride and stupidity. Being right is more important to you than being just. Reach beyond your anger, know your fear, then reach beyond it, and know newness, newness in the form of possibility and potential. There is great power in change.
I implore you, I beg of you with my soul to listen to your heart. You know what the right thing to do is. You know what is just and what is not. You know this and you ignore it. Love one another! For it is only through the love for one another that you can love God. I beg of you to follow the whispers of the Lord. I warn you, beware that if they are not heeded the scorch of fire will be real! Do not listen to the blasphemers that tell you God is dead, that God demands justice against those who see Him in a different form, against those who worship Him in a different language, that those worshippers are destined to die at their hands at the bequest of the Lord, that those who do not heed their words are to burn at their hands. These are liars filled with corruption. They love not each other or you or God. They spout that they are soldiers doing God’s good work, but God does not need soldiers, God does not need the help of men. Men need the help of God and God dwells within every man, every woman, every child. God does not discriminate. If you love God, or even if you don’t, God loves you. God is everything and everything is God. God is real! God lives! You must know this before it is too late.
Most look away and pass him by, some sneer, some laugh, some mock, piss off zealot. Many do not even see him. He has been hit, he has been spat upon, and arrested for disturbing the peace. He does not stop. He does not falter. He does not slow. He preaches. He pronounces edict.
When the Word leaves him, he stops. He buttons his coat, straightens his hat, and disappears into the rush of the people until he finds the girl that plays the violin on the corner near the church. She is playing Massenet’s Meditation from Thaïs. He sits on a bench across from her and closes his eyes. He listens and does not move until she is done. He opens his eyes slowly and wipes them with the handkerchief from his breast pocket. The girl looks at him smiling. He smiles back and tips his hat to her. He leaves two dollars in her violin case and thanks her. He walks back into the rush of people.
The apartment is dark and cold. He turns on the light and the radiator. In the dim orange glow of the light, he hangs his hat and coat on the rack. He opens a can of beans and puts them in the pot on the hot plate. As he waits for them to heat, he goes into the bathroom and relieves himself. He washes his hands and his face. The metal frame of the bed creaks as he sits upon it to change from his loafers to his slippers. He pours the beans into a bowl and moves the chair from the desk to the window. The lights below glow in red, and white and green and yellow and blue. Sirens sound above the dull hiss of traffic. A heavy rain begins to fall. The windows of the building across from him are dark and closed. Below him the multitude pass among one another and do not look up. He finishes his beans, washes the bowl and spoon, and places them back into the cupboard. He moves the chair back to the desk, sits down, straight of back and shoulders, under the dull orange glow of the light, and unbinds the book from the rubber bands. Outside his door, he hears footsteps echo in the hall. He looks up and waits. They do not stop at his door. He opens the book and reads into the night.