Godly People

Beverly and her parents are devout Catholics, and for the last few months, I’ve been joining them for Sunday service. My attendance makes Beverly happy, but I’m so bored, that I wind up counting the hairs on my knuckles to pass the time. I was about to tell Beverly that I couldn’t take it anymore, but then I found a pair of tiny ear-pods. They were so small that my long hair completely concealed the devices, and once I had these little babies, I downloaded the Game of Thrones audio books onto my phone… and the next time I went to church, I wasn’t bore at all, because I was secretly listening to the Stark Family saga — and let me tell you, time just flew by.

“What a great mass!” I said after the service. “I can’t believe two hours went by so quickly. I just love God.”

Beverly was pleased by my enthusiasm, and her parents, who had always thought I was good for nothing, could now say: well at least he likes church.

For a while, we were all happy, especially me, because I couldn’t get enough of these audio books. George Martin really knows how to write an exciting story. One Sunday, he killed off a main character in a single sentence, and I was so surprised that I actually shouted out loud:

“Holy Jesus Christ!” I said. In fact, I exclaimed so loudly, that the preacher stopped preaching, and the entire congregation turned around in their pews to stare at me.

“Did you say something?” asked Father Mumbles.

He was staring at me from his pulpit, frowning so hard that his eyebrows touched.

“I — I said Holy Jesus Christ, because — because I saw him on the alter behind you. It’s a miracle.”

“Do you you still see him?”

“Uh, no. He’s gone now.”

“Well, let me know if he comes back. But do it quietly and do it after the service.”

He was speaking clearly now, almost shouting, so at least I stopped the holy man from mumbling, but still, no one appreciated my outburst.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” said Beverly’s father, once we were all back in the car.

“Really Royal,” said Carol.

Beverly just stared at me with a Manson-like glare.

I should have come clean at that point, but I was irked, because they automatically assumed I was lying. I mean these people believe in Jesus. They believe that he appears to special people. But they refused to believe that Jesus would appear to me, which begs the question: what’s so bad about me?

“I’m telling you, I saw Jesus!” I insisted. “He looked just like William Defoe in the Last Temptation on Christ.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” said Carol.

“I’ve never been so embarrassed,” said Beverly.

She narrowed her eyes at me, but I refused to give up my position. While we were driving home, I point across the street and said: “I see Jesus again! He just stepped out of the Dairy Queen!”

I made claims of seeing Jesus while we were having dinner that night. The following week, I interrupted services again, and while we driving to a baptism, I said: “I wonder if I’ll see Jesus there?”

Frank lost it at that point. He stopped the car and turned to face me in the back seat. I thought he was going hit me, but instead he managed to speak calmly.

“Listen Royal, I’m sorry we doubted your ability to see Jesus. For all I know, maybe you can see Jesus. But will you please cut it out!”

This seemed fair. At least the guy was trying to meet me halfway, so I promised to keep my theophanies to myself, and for the most part, we were back to normal. However, Father Mumbles wouldn’t let me back in his Church.

I was disappointed. I missed the gathering of good-hearted people, and even more so, I missed listening to the Game of Thrones on Sundays, so I took my phone and my tiny ear-pods and went to a service in Harlem. Before long the same thing happened. I got caught up in the book, and shouted out loud while listening to an exciting chapter. But now, I was worshipping in a Pentecostal Church. Everybody was shouting and pumping their palms up to heaven, so when I stood up and said, “God All Mighty!” no one seemed to noticed.