The Fate of Prophets

by Philip Ekstrom

Table of Contents

Table of Contents
parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

conclusion

Fourth Meeting

It had been difficult to find Paul and his latest church. He was no longer in Butte, if indeed he had ever been there. Andrew finally found him back in Seattle, holding services in the large sanctuary that had once housed a Methodist congregation before the university district became a religious desert.

But, as Andrew learned during his inquiries, Paul’s church thrived. He served the university community and seemed to serve it well.

The next Sunday, Andrew slipped into the pew farthest back and tried to be inconspicuous.

There were robes, there was a plain-chant and Paul had a good voice for it. There was ceremony, just enough. There was joy in the music. Andrew settled back and smiled.

Paul preached on a text from the book of Raymond but ended the passage as: “One day, Raymond thought long and said, ‘God is not within man’s understanding, and we must not judge what we do not understand. Though I am brought low, still God gives me life and strength and cares for me. One day I will see him and know all.’ And Raymond worshipped God again, not in the way of his fathers but in a way of his own, and he knew peace.

“He left that place and sought again the city where he first lived. His daughter Alice and her husband welcomed him. She had done well with his business, and again it prospered. She would have returned it to him, but he would not have it so. He worked in it with her and they took joy from each other’s company.

“And in time, when he held his grandchild, he thanked God and was content.”

After the service, Paul stood at the door, greeting parishioners by name and welcoming those he did not recognize. Andrew held back, waiting to be last. A woman was also holding back, who seemed to have been crying. Andrew gestured courteously for her to go first. She frowned slightly but went forward. Andrew stood back but still could hear.

“Thank you for that sermon. I’m so glad I talked to you and, well...”

Paul put his hand on her arm and said, “I’m glad you did, too. These things are hard, but the Lord cares and can help.”

She bobbed her head, suddenly hugged him, and then hurried away.

Paul had his standard newcomer welcome pitch well under way by the time he saw through twenty years of change and recognized Andrew. Startled, he stopped and stared.

“That text is a fraud, Paul. Write your own as you please, but don’t twist mine.”

After a moment, Paul replied, “What you heard is not a fraud but a document of the living Church, written and rewritten as it serves those in need.” Paul looked around them, “Let’s talk but, please, not here.”

Paul doffed his robe, and they walked together out the door. They turned as one and walked down the hill toward the tavern where it all began. When there, Paul ordered beer for Andrew, but a soda for himself. Andrew looked puzzled.

“A while ago I followed Raymond into some of his troubles. I don’t drink anymore.”

They sat in their previously customary booth. The opposite wall still displayed the old mural labeled “A Full Professor,” showing a chubby fellow sitting with his stein of beer and smiling gently.

“As you know, I have started several churches. Each of them has taught me something important. My first church failed. Local opposition. My second failed also. Nobody came. I got depressed and started drinking. Not much at first but more and more as time went on.

“Eventually I focused back onto my psychology practice and brightened up but kept drinking. Finally, a client who knew the signs took me in hand and got me into Alcoholics Anonymous.”

“So, the patient taught the doctor!”

Paul smiled gently. “Yes, she did. Long story there, and only one part matters right now. The statement of their 12 steps has several references to God, and step 2 is to acknowledge a higher power and look to it for help in your recovery. That was a problem for me, but I finally relaxed into that attitude. And it helped.

“Actually, I needed it. I still didn’t think there really was such a power, but I learned then that we may sometimes need to act and let ourselves feel as if there were.”

Andrew was leaning back in his seat and looking hard at Paul but said nothing.

“After getting my recovery under way, I started another church and, this time, it worked. I had a good congregation, and soon the thing was nearly self-supporting.

“One day a man came to me ready to give up. He was in despair over the Book of Raymond. It had been a favorite of his until some personal disasters. Crumpled down in the wreckage of his life, he found Raymond’s rationalist pitch no longer accessible to him. Instead it seemed to condemn him. He needed God, Andrew. God. And this time I could see it clearly.

“So, I told him about a variant text. It had been disputed by scholars, I said, but some thought it was the real original. I had hesitated because it was not Canon, I said, but it rang more true to me. I ‘looked around and found a copy,’ which of course I had just modified to order from your original and gave it to him. He thanked me in tears after the next service. A month later, he gave me the stash of sedatives that he had built up for his suicide and no longer needed.”

Paul shifted in his seat. Andrew frowned and shook his head slowly, then took a swallow of beer. After a pause, Paul continued.

“Once, very early on, you said that the alternate history in your ‘Origins’ needn’t have big religious implications. That’s wrong. Your whole stance so solidly against miracles won’t work for everybody. It may be good science and even true. It may be good-enough theology. But for many people it’s terrible religion. They need to feel that God is there, paying attention to them today. It isn’t enough that God — or something — set it all in motion and is letting it run. He needs to be present, at least lurking, in my message so that people who need him can find him there.

“Your work is wonderful, Andrew, and it has served my congregations beautifully, but a true religious text must be, as you once put it, worn smooth by the years. I have left most of your work just as you wrote it. It speaks to you, to me, and to most of the people here most of the time. That’s why so many come. But in my hands it has grown a little to serve the others better.”

“You lied.”

“Yes, I lied, and I may need to lie again tomorrow.”

“How do you live with that?”

Paul looked over toward another customer sitting alone at a table across the room. “I lie about your book, for sure. I hope for forgiveness, not quite able to pray for it. But if God rules the world, then I commit no sin when I say that he does. If no god rules, then who will judge and who could either punish or forgive?

“Whatever the truth may be, my path is the same: I follow that part of your own teaching that puts compassion in the center. I do what I can in the best way that I know to help those who need help. It feels wonderful, and it seems to make a positive difference in the world. People flock in and, sometimes, I literally save a life.”

He turned back to face Andrew directly. “But you can tell them the truth about your work. I will honor you as author and repair the text, if you insist. There are other changes here and there. Some you’ll like even less; you might want to fix them, too. Actually, one section is mostly mine. I followed your outline and wrote that apocalypse. Not as well as you would have, but it serves.

“It will come as quite a blow to my people to hear that the book is yours. They think it is theirs, given to them by wise men of old. You get to explain it all to Martha. I saw you listening to her at the door, before I recognized you.”

There was a long pause. Paul watched as Andrew drank and then sat staring at the wall. Finally: “Of course I won’t.” Then with a rueful smile: “Here we have a new religion. It seems that I am its prophet, and you are my unfaithful apostle. And still there is no place for me to go to church.”

“That is the fate of prophets,” said Paul.