Saving Jesus

God is good

“God is good.”

“God is good.”

The greeting seemed mechanical---and it was. No one asked how your day was, not anymore. The standard greeting was so common the words seemed to lose significance to anyone listening. Yet the greeting was vital and no one welcomed another without uttering those words. God is good and if you didn’t believe God was---you were as good as dead.

Pastor John Quinn faked a smile and asked the vendor for a deep fried turkey leg with fries and a large iced tea. The atmosphere was that of a Resistance faire with a line of food vendors running along the backside of the stadium. The overall odor in the air was that of grease and burnt hair and the smell pissed off John to no end. He had argued with the organizers to move the food vendors to a different part of the stadium or move the side stage but his requests were ignored. He was basically a nobody.

The pastor paid for his food and stepped over to an eating area---a section of wood tables set up in view of the witch burning stage and sat down. Today was an overcast day, chilly with a constant breeze. Almost too cold for him bundled in two shirts, a hoody and an overcoat. If it wasn’t for the special day he would have stayed home, but nobody stayed home today. Only if they absolutely had to due to their job.

Two o’clock came and went and three was quickly approaching. Every hour on the hour until six pm a woman, a “witch” as they called her was sacrificed, burned alive on the stage to the entertainment of the enormous crowd gathered to watch. And every time she was blasted with the flame thrower the flash emanated the scent of her burnt hair into the air and that didn’t set well with John as he tried to eat his late lunch. The layout of the stadium funneled the breeze right to the food court and today was an exceptionally windy day.

As he took a bite from his turkey leg, John heard some rumbling from the crowd and looked up to see men in yellow work uniforms up on the stage. He didn’t notice before but charred flesh from the last “witch” who was set ablaze was embedded into the mechanism and the next show was in twenty minutes. Then he overheard someone say there was a problem with the gas flow valve and there would be a delay. John stopped chewing on his turkey leg and shook his head in disgust. He walked a hundred yards through a thick crowd to get here on time to see the three o’clock show and now there was a mechanical problem.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. Cursing was frowned upon as a sin and he could be reported. He looked around and no one was looking in his direction. As a pastor he would be held to a higher standard and expected to be an example. But there would be no exception if he were caught, everyone, including pastors were subject to punishment.

The workmen managed to pull charred body parts from the hook that was used to dangle the victims above the crowd as they burned but John noticed the pilot light was now out. Normally there was a bright blue flame that was constantly burning used to ignite the torch when the Napalm gas jets shot forth. Then he saw more workmen, this time in blue collared shirts on the stage, one of them was pointing up to the gas nozzle and talking on a radio. He knew from the work uniforms and tool belts they were wearing the men were from the local gas company and could see one of their vans poking through a driveway door on the perimeter of the stadium near the portable toilets.

“Now what?” he thought to himself. He had spent most of the morning on the opposite side of the stadium near the main stage watching homosexuals being nailed to and hung from crosses. He looked down at his meal and realized he was missing something. He forgot the baked beans that he used as dip for his turkey leg and fries. He looked around to see how many open seats were near him if someone would happen to want his seat while he went back to the vendor. There were people all around but plenty of open seats. Maybe if he left his food on the table as a mark he could come right back to where he sitting, but then that was an open invitation for someone to swipe his lunch. Although stealing was punishable by death, John still worried someone would slip his turkey leg under a jacket and be off in the crowd before anyone noticed. “Fuck it,” he thought and gathered up his food. Better safe than sorry. The trip back to the vendor was reasonably quick considering how many people he had to navigate around and between, and the line once he got there was only two people deep. The turkey leg and fries were still warm on this cold blustery day and felt good in his hands.

“God is good,” John said to the vendor as he stepped up to the counter.

“Yes I am,” the young woman replied with a grin.

“Talk like that can get you killed,” John replied. “You should watch your mouth. That’s blasphemy.”

“What can I get you?” the woman asked ignoring John’s comment.

“I don’t think you realize the significance of what you’re saying Miss,” John snapped back. “There are people here that would haul you off and turn you in if they heard you.”

“Are you one of them?” the woman asked. She was now a bit apprehensive but still glib. She had a glint in her eye and the corner of her lip was raised.

“Yes, but I will give you a second chance. Jesus did say to turn the other cheek.”

“That’s what they say.”

“That’s what the bible says young lady---not ’They.”

“There’s a line behind you, what can I get you?”

John stared at the woman and bit down on his lip. He wanted to rage on her but took a deep breath instead and replied, “Baked beans.”

“Baked beans please?” the woman asked smug.

John shook his head. “Baked beans please.”

Then from behind John heard a voice call out over the public address system. He turned and saw the image of a man on a huge screen at the back of the stage where the torch was set up. The man was dressed in a coat with dark gloves and an orange hat. He held the microphone to his lips and said, “We regret to inform you but we are going to have to delay for at least three to four hours.”

The crowd rumbled and the volume of sound doubled in an instant. “What do you mean three to four hours?” a man called out.

“We have a mechanical problem and need to get parts. The parts we need will have to be flown in and that will take time. As you know we no longer have the same access we used to have to parts.”

“It will be too late by then!” another man yelled out.

“Once we get the parts and the machine is running again we will speed up the schedule. Instead of one witch per hour we will burn one every fifteen minutes. Don’t worry, you will still get what you came for.”

John heard the female vendor call out to him from behind, “That will be four dollars.”

“For a cup of baked beans?”

“This is a special event,” the woman replied.

The special event she referred to was the annual extermination, or otherwise known as the Killing of the sinners. Homosexuals, abortionists, witches, Catholic Priests, evolutionists, and anyone that disagreed with the new church’s interpretation of the bible. The event was now in its third year and based on the colosseum in Rome, a stadium built to seat ninety thousand people with all the accommodations of a three day rock concert. At one end was a massive stage where Christian bands played book ended with a huge dinosaur replica on each side. Part of a creationist petting zoo set up with figurines of humans and dinosaurs interacting. A third into the crowd and to stage right was a different platform where crucifixions of homosexuals took place and two thirds to stage left was the witch burning stage. At the back of the stadium lined from edge to edge were food vendors and lined up perpendicular to them to the right were one hundred and fifty portable toilets.

The stadium sat on the site of where the Ark Extravaganza Museum once stood. That was before it was burned to the ground by anti-Christian protestors, otherwise known as militant Atheists. Despite the cold weather, the place was packed with believers here to see a show. On the witch burning stage women who were convicted of having abortions were hung up nude from a hook and fried under an intense Napalm gas jet flame until their screams stopped and their fat dripped into a special vats centered below them. Over time the women had been awarded the title of “witches,” as it was a quick, easy and negative way to refer to them. “Women who had abortions,” just didn’t have the same ring to it.

Although abortion had been outlawed since the three state area had been taken over by the Christian sect called Biblandia, there were still pockets of back alley clinics and the practice continued. And that is how they came this day to burn these women. When one clinic was discovered, the practitioner foolishly kept a medical records of his patients and the women were hunted down and arrested. After a short trial in a Christian courtroom their fates were sealed and they spent the best part of a year in jail awaiting this Day of Judgment.

There was no Roe vs Wade in Biblandia. A new and separate country that managed to succeed from the union when the radical Christian military took over three Minuteman-III missile silos during the Christian uprising. In fear that the country would be soon taken over by secularists, the church took action to secure its future. Biblandia was made up of the former states of Kentucky, Tennessee and West Virginia and its power was centered in the capital of Kentucky, Frankfort.

With the threat of nuclear destruction the new country was secure---for now. There was always a threat from the outside but despite the backwards reputation of the area, there were many technologically savvy industrialists that had the ability to cut off the missile system and take it over for their own means. They needed the excuse to finally put their plan into action.

Again the voice called out over the speaker system and John took notice. He stepped away from the food vendor to let the next person in line order keeping his eye on the huge screen up on stage.

“Everyone please bow their heads,” the man with the microphone stated. “Lord, we pray that you help us at our time of need. We pray for fast and safe passage for the crew that are bringing forth the necessary parts to repair the torch of praise, worship and correction. We pray the parts will do what they need to do so we can do your work and punish the sinners that make a mockery of your love of life. There is no greater sin than that of those who take the lives of the unborn and we in our worship of you will do what we can to right that wrong and send the sinner straight into hell. Please Lord, hear our prayer for you are the almighty one, the exalted one and the only perfect one. In your and Jesus name, Amen.” The man raised his head, turned around and headed off stage.

John watched as a hundred or more heads raised back into the upright position like a well-timed clock and then heard a flurry of beeping and vibrations from behind. He turned to see the woman who had served him lunch behind the counter staring down at her phone shaking her head with a twisted grin. As if she had received the most absurd text she had ever read. She looked up at John, shoved her phone back in her pocket and winked. She then turned her attention back to the man in line and took his order.

The trip back to John’s seat was quick and to his relief nobody took his spot. He set his food back down on the table and scooped up some hot baked beans shoved them into his mouth. The flavor put a smile on his face and the hot beans on the cold day was just what he needed. Plus there was no longer the smell of burnt hair in the air.

The sky above hinted at a break in the dark grey clouds with maybe a little sunshine but every time a little blue shown though the wind quickly covered the blue with grey. The wind was nonstop---ranging from a slight breeze to a brisk wind that scattered the garbage on the ground around him and kept the flags nearby flapping endlessly. The wind-chill had to be in the teens and he could feel a burning sensation on his cheeks and nose. His hoody worked like a sail to collect the wind when he faced it so he tried to face downwind as much as possible. The only problem was he couldn’t see the stage facing that direction, but what was there to see anyway?

Then he heard the familiar voice of the woman who had served him his meal. “Mind if I sit down?”

John looked up to see her standing on the opposite side of the table with a bag in her hand.

“No, go ahead,” John replied motioning for her to take a seat. “Break time?” John asked.

“I’m done for the day, my shift is over,” the woman replied.

John looked for a nametag but saw none. He felt like he should at least ask her name. “Who are you?” John asked.

“Stacy,” the woman replied.

“Hi Stacy,” John said and took a bite of his beans. “Got to eat them while their hot.”

“No doubt, I’d ask you how you’re doing but I can see you look miserable.”

“Fucking freezing.”

“You must have a low tolerance for cold.”

“I’m wearing three shirts, a hoody and a jacket and I still feel cold. This wind sucks.”

“Maybe you should pray for warmer weather?”

“I did,” John replied.

“And how’s that working out for you?”

John stopped eating and glared at the woman mocking him from across the table. “Prayer works,” John stated. He was firm in his tone and a little upset. “You really need to watch your mouth.”

Stacy pulled out her phone and slid her finger down the front as if she was searching for something.

“What are you looking for?” John asked.

“I’m checking something, no big deal,” Stacy replied.

“The weather report? The forecast says it might sleet by midnight.”

“It will.”

“Is that what your App says?”

Stacy looked up from her phone and locked eyes with John. “No, I heard it on the radio. It gets boring working the food court, we play the radio all day. Hear it?”

John feigned listening, he didn’t give a shit. “Yeah, maybe,” John replied finishing his beans. “Man, I could use another bowl of these.”

“Go ahead, they have plenty. By the way, what’s your name?”

“John,” was the reply. Then John felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out of his pocket and read something from the screen. The look on his face was frustration and anger.

“What is it?” Stacy asked being polite and feigning interest in John’s text. It was the socially acceptable thing to ask.

“You seem to know everything, you tell me,” John snapped back.

“Obviously someone pissed you off.”

“Obviously,” John replied. He set his phone on the table next to his paper plate and rubbed his forehead with his gloved hand.

“Humor me, tell me what’s bothering you. You’ll feel better.”

John paused for a moment and without realizing shook his head from side to side. Subconsciously he was giving off a signal that his anxiety was peaking and that he didn’t know how to deal with it. “I got a text two days ago telling me that I needed to be here by three. I didn’t recognize the number and I wasn’t able to look it up online. The text said that something huge was going to happen here and that I needed to be here by three to witness it.”

“Any clue as to what they were talking about?”

“None, just that I would regret not being here.”

“There is a reason why you were called here. You know someone scheduled to burn.”

“How would you know?”

“It’s obvious.”

“It’s not obvious at all!”

“Tell me her name.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, is there a list somewhere?”

“Yes dumbass, it’s posted on their website.”

“What’s the website called?”

“KOTS.JESUS.COM,” Stacy replied.

John poked and prodded at his phone until he had the website up on his screen. He navigated to the event schedule and found what he was looking for, a list of the women scheduled to burn alive on the stage. He quickly ran down the names and stopped cold in the middle. His jaw dropped as he leaned back in his seat.” Holy fucking shit,” John said under his breath. He couldn’t take his eyes off the screen.

“Say it” Stacy demanded.