I have a jicky doorbell. Half the time it works and half the time it won't work. Typical of outsourced products. Today, it decided to ring. But, I digress.
Two women stood at the door. Both wore gray. One wore a hat style I last observed in 1957 and the other wore a wooden cross, that if it had been a state, it would be Delaware. Each had gray hair and ladled on makeup. In their hands was the Good Book. Two of them. Must have been on sale or lifted from hotel rooms in the smug section of town.
I've got to hand it to them, though. They have guts wanting to be delusional. I give them a point for that alone.
"What you want this cold, blustery morning?" I said while opening the door.
That's when the Good Book smooze began. I was promised everything but the the proverbial pony. My soul would be saved! I would feel the love of Jesus! If I repented, I would live in glory!
Well, having a few extra minutes in my normal dreary day, I invited them in out of the cold wind. While they settled into the sofa and then sinking to the ground, I made some Dollar Store coffee. Ain't no glory in poverty, you know? I began my plan of attack while they sipped.
"Just so I fully understand why you both are here, is because you want to talk with me about the Good Book, is that correct?" I said.
Ten minutes of spewing came the answer. Yes. They were there to share the word and bring Jesus into my miserable life. Then again, most of my friends are miserable too, so I guess today was my lucky day, kinda.
"Well, tell me something." I began. "Those good books of yours bona fide? They look mighty puny. Don't think yours have all the parts. Just those parts others feel is OK to read. What you have there is a cheap version for people who think they know it all, anyway."
As the Creator is my witness, you would have thought I had committed some type of blasphemy upon them. They jerked, grunted, gagged, teared up and one almost swallowed her lower plate. Scary moment there, you betcha.
Never being one to wait until one crisis is over, I began another. It is my way in things dealing with religious organizations.
"Oh, I'm sorry, did I do a naughty? I sincerely apologize. Really, I do. But, I'll tell you what, I am more than prepared to discuss the Good Book if you can answer one question," I intoned.
Lots of wiggling around on the sofa, then lots of whispering behind hands. Finally, they agreed with one addition. If they answered my question correctly I would join their church.
"Agreed!" I said with gusto, while they sat back in the sofa and then into the wall. I've really got to scronge around for a better sofa. This was really getting bad.
"What is Jesus' actual name?" I asked quietly and with reverance.
Deer in headlights didn't even relate to the look on their faces. It was really quiet for a long, long time. Actually, I thought maybe they were dead, but finally they jerked themselves up from the sofa, grabbed their Good Books and headed for the portal.
"Whoa! Wait!" I said, "Too hard?"
With thier backs to me they leaned against the wind and tried to gracefully walk down the drive way. That's when I lowed the boom.
"Yeshua ben Pantera!" I yelled to their backs. "Really, go read the parts those people controlling your life and stealing your money, don't want you to know!"
The day was no longer dreary. They came, we talked, I conquered.