September, 1987
Music and voices fill the sanctuary as the hymn is sung, most are seated save a few who always rise. The organ accompaniment is steady but not as confident as usual, the pastor and wife are away this week on a retreat, and she would normally take that post, plus there was no pianist available this week.
At each side of the half-empty choir loft are the standard flags, American and Christian, the Republic and Brotherhood, and at one side the stained wooden marquee rack with attendance and offering figures both past and present. The crowd of about 45 are mostly regulars at Cavalry Bible Church sprinkled with a few extras, which is usual. One of the children is known to make maps on the back of her Sunday School papers of where everyone sits, including the notorious back row of “Noisey Teen Kids.”
The men are generally in ties and khakis, some in suits, some in golf shirts and the ladies in fall-colored dresses from Kmart or Penny’s. A couple of the older gals still don wool suits every week, year round, and have their hair curled on Saturday afternoon whether it needs it or not.
Some weeks there are three hymns and a special. Other times may be two hymns, a chorus and a special. Or, there could even be a chorus, a hymn and then a chorus. And a special. It all depends. This week, for instance, was a chorus then two hymns. But we haven’t yet gotten to the special.
Seated along the row of Noisey Teens is one Manuel Jose Cortierez, although he usually goes by ManCo, with headphones looped behind his neck to avoid detection as he takes a third pass at a crappy dub of his brother’s Ice-T tape. A few weeks ago he would crank up the headphones pretty loud during the sermon until one of the ladies confronted him about the distraction, so he kindly told her to shut the fuck up - right there in the sanctuary. Being the sensitive type she cried for a while, but then the pastor had a word with him. At this point he’s got bigger fish to fry, being just one or two dates away from deflowering the broody-eyed daughter of the Baptist preacher across town.
Brother Mike Humphries, who runs a muffler shop in a small burg a few miles out, steps up to the podium to make announcements and then call for the ushers. The announcements always precede the ushers, otherwise people will start craning to look to the rear when they keep talking and miss their cue. The ushers proceed to the front in perfect laser-guided sync, then stop, then someone offers a prayer, and with the amen the tension is broken, as the snap in the first down after kickoff.
“Welcome to our service this morning,” Mike begins with a genuine country smile, “we are glad you could join us today and it’s good to see your smiling faces.” A brief twinge of guilt shoots though his gizzard as he realizes his is the only smile he can begin to discern at the moment.
“There are a few things in your bulletin to bring to your attention this morning,” he continues, “such as the annual Fall Harvest Potluck this Saturday over at the JVS building on Faulkner Road, please bring a dish according to the first letter of your last name as listed, and the address is also printed for your convenience.”
Jerry Brubaker, one of the Noisey Teen Kids, turns to Chuck Dunning and whispers, “Great, we’re at the juvie again.”
Chuck thinks a second and fires back, “Well at least the druggies won’t be there on a weekend.”
“Yeah that’s the only time,” was all Jerry could offer.
What the Noisey Teens hadn’t yet noticed was a low rumble building as Brother Mike read the announcements, and Mike himself doesn’t really catch on until everyone is looking around. He starts to pan himself as he hesitantly calls for the ushers -
Just as the lights go out.
With no windows at all in the sanctuary the group was now left to wonder what caused not only the rumbling but now darkness, if only for only a few seconds, as the rumbling gave way to an all-out explosive roar that shook the building and all within.
Flashes of amber and blue from where no one could tell yield only snapshots of shadows as the rumbling continues but not as loud as the blast. The air began to feel either smoky or foggy, it was hard to tell, and the aroma was a bit acrid but not entirely like breathing smoke.
And then, the rumbling and flashing subside.
After a couple of endless seconds the house lights flicker back to life, seemingly one by one.
Brother Mike is nowhere to be seen. Yet amidst the haze a figure in sandals and a white flowing robe appear in the middle of the platform.
The congregation is silent. No one looks around, even the youth are stoic. The robed figure takes a couple of wary steps forward and drops to his knees. That’s when the silence is broken.
Mary Jane Hillard, who in all her 82 years on Earth has ne’er uttered a peep in church, shouts out in a startling pitch, “IT’S ALL TRUUUUE! IT’S ALL TRUUUUE” before clutching her breast.
ManCo finally shuts off his Walkman. His heart is in his throat.
Dan Aldwin, who had been standing all through the singing and even the announcements, throws up his hands and shouts “I AM NOT WORTHY! WE ARE NOT WORTHY!” as his eyes and fists race in a dead heat for the Guinness World Record for clinching.
No one else can speak or move. The robed figure has an expression that somewhat reflects that of the congregation and then looks around a bit, then starts to stand up.
All the while Emmett Bain, not one of the regulars, sits in the row opposite the usually Noisey Teens with one arm on the back of the pew and a grin that grows with every twist. He fishes out half a roll of Life Savers Winter-fresh mints from his pocket and pops one into his mouth.
At this point Brother Dan loses it. He just cries out and mumbles unintelligibly and starts jumping around as the robed figure turns to face those in the choir loft, and then turns back around with a very confused look, the kind one gets when wondering if he or she has shown up at the right party.
Mary Hilliard had been gradually slumping into her pew, and a couple of the ladies rush to her side, and as heads turn to that scene the rear sanctuary doors burst open.
“IS EVERYONE ALRIGHT IN HERE?” says a commanding voice. Two uniformed police officers stand at the doors with guns drawn, pointing at the floor. What motion there had been suddenly ceases, except for the robed figure, who reaches one hand forward and tries to speak.
The officers look around then exchange glances. “Well? We heard an explosion and ran right over, has there been a bomb?”
Dan Aldrige was first to reply. “Don’t you see the LORD has returned? He has returned, brothers! HE IS RISEN! HE IS RISEN INDEED!” After shouting he melts onto his knees, crying and whispering.
The officer takes a deep breath and presses on, with decreasing patience, “PLEASE, will someone tell us if a bomb went off here?”
Before anyone else can utter a word, one of the ladies with Mary Jane says “I think she’s had a heart attack, can we get an ambulance?”
The officers nod to each other, holster their weapons and one of them reaches for his radio, as he turns around to speak into it a middle-aged man in pajamas, slippers, and a satin BPOE jacket rushes into the door and looks around, pausing for a second when his eyes find the robed figure, still reaching out with his hand.
“Chief,” says the officer who had first spoken, “I just got here about thirty seconds ago, there doesn’t appear to be any damage, just a lot of smoke inside.”
Emmet Bain raises his hand. “Hey there, Jack.”
The chief doesn’t recognize the voice but turns and seems relieved to find a familiar face. “Matt? What the hu - I mean...DAMMIT ALL!! What in....WHAT HAPPENED?”
“Yeah it was kinda weird, not sure what the point was but the special effects were something else.”
Chief Jack just looks around in disbelief. “Just what in BLAZES are you people doing to my town on a Sunday morning? There’s this...convincing explosion and then...only to find the building perfectly in tact...I don’t know whether to be thankful or pissed off!”
The robed figure takes one step too far and tumbles onto the floor.
“And what’s the deal with this character?” asks the chief as he starts up the aisle, and motions to the officer, “Vern let’s check this out.”
Dan Aldridge pipes up again, “He’s the MESSIAH! He has RETURNED in a BLINDING FLASH of GLORY! BEHOLD, his vestments are WHITE as the PURE DRIVEN SNOW!”
“Well your Messiah just walked off the edge of the riser, genius!” fires the chief. Dan just sobs even harder, and his well-worn Haggar slacks begin to darken around the crotch.
As they each rummage for an arm inside the white robe, the chief asks openly, “Is that woman in need of medics?”
“Scott was calling them just as you walked in, Jack, they say she’s still breathing, just faintly.” says Officer Vern. They bring the would-be Jesus to his feet and he can barely stay on them.
“Alright cutesiepie what’s your part in this? HAH?” barks Chief Jack. Not getting an answer, the chief shakes him a bit then waves a hand in front of those glazed-over eyes and barely gets a blink. “Yeah this one’s baked to the gills, get his ass outta here.”
“Right, Chief,” and just as Vern answers, his partner darts back down the aisle with an update.
“County is sending an ambulance, and we have reports that three males were spotted sneaking away from this location after the noise died down.”
The chief turns to think for a minute, and in doing so notices Dan still hunched on his knees, frozen in horror with a small lake around the fork of his trousers.
“WHAT IN FUCKING HELL KIND OF CHURCH IS THIS? PEOPLE, FOR GOD’S SAKE!” as he shakes off the disgust. “This man has peed his goddamn pants at a supposed rapture...here I’m not a religious man and I know Christ is supposed to show up like a...aww, sheeeit.” He rubs his face and tries to regain composure.
“Look I’m sorry folks, I meant no disrespect, this is just...” and draws a deep breath. “Scotty let’s get a jump on those three who were probably fleeing the scene, someones gotta be behind this. If nothing else it’s disturbing the peace, and people, you certainly don’t disturb MY peace on MY day off.” He pauses for a moment and doesn’t even address the crowd. “Alright, we’re done here, let’s go.”
Officer Scott speaks into his walkie-talkie mic and the chief lowers his head as they hurry out, as if to avoid any further interaction. Emmett Bain, who had had shot pool and downed a few brewhaas with Jack at the lodge over the years, is no longer grinning.
As the EMS siren grows louder Ned Swanson looks around, then turns to his wife and asks, “Hon, where’s Nicky?”
Sister Irene Swanson turns to him with sunken, wetted eyes now filled with an unmistakable dread above all else.
