Seeing Jesus

by Jeffrey McClain Jones

  “Stop him,” Jesus said with urgency.

  Philly stood up and grabbed Allen’s wrist before he turned all the way around. Allen looked back at Philly’s hand there, and then at Philly’s face, as if he was surprised to find anyone with him.

  The waitress arrived with Philly’s card and the signing copy of the receipt. Philly felt like a juggler, his head going in three directions and his hands needing to cooperate. He looked at Jesus and said, simply, “Help.”

  Jesus did help, putting his hand where Philly touched Allen. A shudder started at that spot and flowed up his arm, to Allen’s shoulders and down his back, causing him to slump back into his seat. Philly grabbed the check, took a look at the bill and just added twenty dollars for the tip, scrawling his signature as quickly as possible.

  “Help me get him out?” Philly spoke to Jesus aloud.

  The waitress misunderstood and answered. “Sure.” She circled around behind Allen.

  The proximity of the attractive, young woman distracted Allen, as Philly ushered him toward the front door, still holding his wrist. Several patrons noted the strange manner of their exit, but Philly and company provided only a curiosity, not a huge disruption.

  When they all stood on the side walk out front, Philly breathed easier.

  The waitress said, “Is he gonna be okay?”

  “Yeah, I got it from here. Thanks so much,” Philly said.

  Just as the young woman stepped back inside, Allen whirled around and vomited against the building, his head waist-high. Philly recoiled, repressing the urge to follow suit. Jesus reached up and steadied Philly, who welcomed the comforting relief of that touch and held on to his expensive supper.

  It was too late for Allen. As soon as he finished, Philly hooked Allen’s left arm and towed him toward his own car, praying silently that Jesus would keep Allen from a second act on the upholstery. But Allen settled that by breaking away and staggering into a narrow alley. Initially, Philly thought he was going to vomit again, but then Allen hit escape speed, only to skid to a stop next to a dumpster, his way blocked by a delivery van. Philly followed, Jesus urging him on.

  “You need to take charge of this now, Philly. This is your dragon,” Jesus said, with an air of excitement at the thrill of battle.

  “How?” Philly said.

  “You speak for me, that’s how.”

  “Go ahead,” Philly said, getting in front of Allen, who had begun pacing back and forth, like a lion at the zoo.

  “Tell the spirit of perversion to grab hold of all the others and get out of Allen,” Jesus said.

  Philly repeated Jesus’s command, trying not to sound shrill. Allen stood still and opened his mouth wider than Philly had ever seen done by anyone.

  Jesus said, “Stop that and come out immediately.”

  Philly again repeated Jesus’s words. Allen collapsed to the worn red brick and patchy asphalt at his feet.

  “More games,” Jesus said. “You have to get Allen to cooperate. Ask him if he wants the demons to leave.”

  Philly knelt next to Allen and tried to get his attention. “Allen, Allen, listen to me. You gotta tell me if you wanna get rid of these things inside you.”

  Allen looked up at Philly, like a kid caught playing dead, then his appearance turned more normal and a look of fear took over. “Yes. Please, help me get ‘em out.”

  Philly didn’t even wait for Jesus this time, but said, “Okay demons, all of you have to go now. Jesus says so.”

  With that, Allen belched, and then fell back on the ground, panting as if he had just finished running hard. Philly looked at Jesus for an interpretation. Jesus nodded. Just then, the delivery man returned to his van, which was parked facing away from Allen and Philly. When the engine started, and exhaust puffed out of the tail pipe, Allen tried to roll to his feet. Philly made that maneuver possible with two hands and a bit of grunting. He stood Allen against the brick wall of the restaurant, Allen still panting, his eyes closed.

  When he opened his eyes, Allen looked a question at Philly.

  Philly answered the wordless query. “They’re gone.”

  Allen nodded. “I feel empty and alone.”

  Philly looked at Jesus again.

  “Let’s take him to your grandma’s house. She can pray for him and you and he can spend the night there,” Jesus said.

  Philly wondered why he couldn’t pray for Allen, or pray adequately, if that was the issue. Jesus answered the silent question.

  “You can’t do everything, my friend. I designed it that way. Later, you’ll have others to help you in a situation like this, but, for now, you just have Grandma.”

  Philly led Allen to his car, after stopping to check that Allen had parked where he could leave his car overnight. Allen followed like a stray dog that had been given food, making no objections to Philly’s plans.

  Grandma welcomed the two men at her door, though it was nearly ten o’clock, pretty late for her. Jesus had warned her of the approaching guests. In her kitchen, Grandma gave Allen and Philly milk and cake and then she prayed for Allen’s recovery, and ultimate redemption, including forgiving the priest that harmed him as a child. Allen accepted her prayers subserviently, free from his usual spite and resistance.

  After she showed Allen the bathroom, and where he could sleep, Allen thanked Grandma. “I really appreciate you helping me out. This is a life saver for me. Thanks.”

  Grandma surprised both Allen and Philly by giving her guest a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “You are quite welcome. I love to do Jesus’s work with him. It’s grand.”

  Philly chuckled at Grandma and said goodnight to Allen, who shook his hand vigorously. “You’re the best, Phil. You’re the best,” was all he could say.

  Philly laughed again and patted Allen on the back, as he drifted into the guest room. Jesus clapped Philly on the back at that point and got a big hug from both Grandma and Philly, in turn. The three of them quietly moved into the living room to let Allen get to sleep.

  “Have you done this sort of thing before?” Philly said to Grandma, as she sat down.

  She shook her head. “Not exactly. We pray for people at church and in prayer meetings. But I never hosted a deliverance survivor in my house like this.”

  “Deliverance?” Philly said.

  Grandma grinned at her newbie Christian grandson. “That’s what we call it when someone gets free from bad spirits.”

  Philly nodded, but furrowed his brow. “I thought that was an exorcism,” he said.

  “We try to avoid using that word,” Jesus said, apparently referring to him and Grandma, with that inclusive pronoun.

  “Deliverance.” Philly tried the term out for himself. “Well, it wasn’t too bad with you standing right there,” he said to Jesus.

  Jesus nodded and smiled knowingly. Just what he was smiling about, Philly was too tired to inquire. He went down to the basement to sleep, after Jesus reassured him that there would be no problem with Allen the rest of the night. After hugging and kissing Philly, Grandma sat back down to read in her favorite chair, before going to bed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next morning, over a breakfast of pancakes and sausage, Philly listened to Grandma instructing Allen on how to truly recover from the horrors of his childhood. Allen listened quietly, nodding, his eyes sincere and childlike. Philly liked this new Allen much better. He could see where Grandma’s experience had equipped her for this moment and guessed that her matronly appearance and manners helped Allen to trust her. At ten o’clock, Philly dropped Allen off at his car, with instructions for church attendance, and places to look for counseling, already tacked onto his heart and mind.

  Alone in the car with Jesus, at last, Philly said, “I’m glad you didn’t really warn me about all that. I would’ve run the other way, screaming.”

  Jesus laughed. “I know. But you handled it very well. I’m proud of you.”

  There are certain phrases that a boy longs to hear all of his life, including boys wh
o never really become fully men for lack of hearing them. Jesus’s simple expression of pleasure with Philly’s performance, oozed onto Philly’s soul like warm honey, much sweeter than what he had been looking for and exactly what he needed.

  Jesus let Philly absorb his praise for a few blocks, as they drove toward home, until they stopped at a traffic light. “You should call Theresa,” he said.

  Philly had been thinking of doing just that and Jesus’s suggestion merely tipped him off the fence. He found her number and hit the button to dial, before the light turned green. Philly put his phone on speaker, so he could set it down while he drove.

  “Hello,” Theresa said, in a low voice.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?” Philly asked, glancing at Jesus in the passenger seat.

  “No, actually I just went on break. I’m working seven to three today,” she said. “How are you and Jesus doing?”

  Philly breathed a soft laugh and said, “We’re great. He’s the one that told me I should call you now. I guess he knew you were on break.”

  “Wow,” Theresa said, speaking normally now, apparently in a better place to talk. “That sure is handy, to only call when it’s a good time.”

  “Yeah, I’m getting spoiled,” Philly said. “Do you want to have dinner tonight?” he asked, only consulting Jesus as an afterthought. But he could see that Jesus approved of the offer.

  “Of course, I’d love to. Why don’t I cook for you,” Theresa said.

  Philly could see Jesus shaking his head, out of the corner of his eye. “You’re working. I’ll take you out. We can find a quiet place to eat, so you don’t have to do any more work tonight,” he said.

  “Oh, you’re so considerate.” Theresa cooed. “But I do want to cook for you some time.”

  They arranged the time for Philly to pick her up and said endearing goodbyes before ending the call. Philly turned briefly and smiled at Jesus.

  “Pretty proud of yourself, huh?” Jesus said.

  Philly laughed. “Actually, just really grateful to you.”

  Jesus smiled.

  “So what’s next?” Philly asked, just before he reached the corner where he planned to turn north, toward his place.

  “Go ahead and turn here, but I want you to keep going up to a church in Rogers Park. I want you to meet someone,” Jesus said.

  Within ten minutes, Philly was parked under a budding cottonwood tree on the far north side of the city. Across the street stood a traditional old church building with a very nontraditional name on its sign. Philly didn’t recognize the brand, but trusted Jesus on this visit, as with most everything else. He hauled himself out of the car and onto the street. As he walked toward the corner, and the front door of the church building, he noticed a man, about twenty years older than himself, walking up to the front of the church and glancing around. As Philly stepped up on the curb, the man stopped and watched him approaching. This made Philly feel self-conscious, but also somehow welcomed, or even expected.

  When he approached the bottom of the stairs, the man said to Philly, “I know this is going to sound strange. But, are you the guy that Jesus told to come here and meet me?”

  Philly paused at the bottom step, feeling Jesus close beside him. He resisted glancing at him and answered, “Ah, yeah, actually. How did you know?”

  “I thought I heard him telling me to get over to the church building ‘cause he was bringing a guy over to meet me here.” He paused and seemed to change gears. “I’m Dave Michaels, the pastor of the church,” he said, extending his hand, as Philly reached the top of the stairs.

  When Philly took Dave’s hand Jesus reached in and both Philly and Dave felt a sort of electrical jolt. They both laughed in surprise.

  “I’m Phillip Thompson,” Philly said.

  “Come on in, Phillip. Can I make you some coffee? I didn’t get my fix yet this morning.”

  Philly laughed a bit nervously, “Yeah, that would be great.”

  Dave lead the way through a fairly utilitarian looking building, missing some of the décor and ambiance that Philly associated with church, but that only made it more comfortable for him. The pastor stopped in a little reception area between a few offices and grabbed the Pyrex coffee pot to fill with water at the water cooler right there.

  “Caffeinated?” Dave said.

  “Please,” Philly said.

  “Do I call you Phillip, or Phil?”

  “Philly,” he said without thinking. Then he explained. “It’s the nickname my dad gave me when I was a kid.” He hesitated slightly and said, “And it’s what Jesus calls me.”

  Dave nodded, learning a lot about his guest from that little explanation. While the coffee began to drip, Dave led Philly into his office and offered him a chair. He wore jeans and an old sweater over a faded button down shirt and seemed quite comfortable with a guest in his office. In his mid to late fifties, Dave’s hair had gone nearly uniformly gray and his face had the appearance of a man who had lost some weight not too long ago. But mostly, Philly noticed his lively and curious blue eyes. They reminded him somehow of Jesus’s much darker eyes.

  After arranging things to make it a bit tidier, including clearing a second chair for himself, Dave looked toward the door and sniffed. “Smells just about ready,” he said.

  “Smells good,” Philly said.

  Dave headed for the door, talking as he went. “A friend of mine sent that coffee to me from Africa, where he’s teaching at a seminary and living with his family. They grow great coffee over there, but we don’t see much of it over here, I guess,” he said from the other room. Dave returned with two cups on a tray that included powdered creamer and some packets of sugar and artificial sweeteners. He set the tray on the front of his desk, where he had cleared a spot a minute ago. Then he pulled up a comfortable arm chair to sit facing Philly.

  “So, why did Jesus want you to come see me?” Dave said, as Philly fixed his coffee the way he liked it, with a little real sugar and a pile of the powdered creamer.

  Jesus helped Philly. “Tell him your story first.”

  Gripping his cup and sliding back into his chair, Philly said, “Well, let me tell you the story of the last couple of weeks.”

  Dave readily agreed.

  As they sipped their coffee, Philly attempted to wrap up the days since Grandma’s stroke, into a coherent narrative. Not a practiced storyteller, he nevertheless managed to get enough out in ten minutes to give Dave the general idea.

  “Man, that’s fantastic!” Dave said, when Philly rolled his story to a stop at the point where they met. “Oh, man, that’s a great story. What we’d call around here ‘a real God story.’ Do you have any idea how fortunate you are?”

  Philly sat speechless for a moment, his eyes alight with the lift of Dave’s open acceptance of his claims. Finally he spoke. “Yes, I think I do. Jesus has told me over and over how unusual my experience is.”

  Dave nodded. “You seem surprised at my response.”

  Philly smiled. “You could tell that, huh?” he laughed at himself. “Not everyone believes me, including religious people.”

  “Maybe, especially religious people,” Dave said. “I find religion to be more of a hindrance than a help most of the time.”

  Again, Philly stalled at this pastor’s response, getting caught on Dave’s negative view of religion.

  Dave explained. “You see, religion generally is the way people try to control God. And, since God is God, it tends to get in the way of actually relating to God.”

  Philly nodded, trying to catch up. “I’m not a church person. A lot of this is new to me.”

  Dave smiled. “That may be exactly why Jesus chose you to see and hear him.”

  Philly still shook his head in disbelief at Dave’s instant trust in his story, which made him wonder something.

  “Have you ever seen and heard him?”

  Dave shook his head and smiled. “Oh, I wish I had. But I have a strong feeling that you really do see him. And man, I am s
o jealous.”

  Philly looked over at Jesus, who had taken up the seat behind the desk and put his feet up. Jesus looked at Dave with an intoxicating smile of love and satisfaction. Philly couldn’t resist telling him.

  “He’s looking at you now with such a proud look on his face. I can really tell he loves you a ton,” he said, feeling a flood of emotions rising with his words.

  Dave looked toward the chair, following Philly’s gaze, blinked twice and then burst into tears for one intense moment, tears literally spraying from his eyes, as a cluster of uninhibited sobs broke into the air. Philly looked at Jesus while Dave strained to get control of himself, crying and laughing at the same time. Jesus just beamed his love from behind the desk, barely restraining himself. After a couple of minutes of sniffling, blowing, laughing and wiping tears, Dave sat back again in his chair.

  “Oh, man. You have no idea how timely that was for me,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s a complicated story, but you should just know, that hit the spot.” And he laughed, with relief and joy that rolled him into a more relaxed state. Philly would have said Dave was pretty relaxed already, but could see the change in his host and recognized the feeling.

  “He’s done that to me a few times in the last couple of weeks,” Philly said, in case Dave needed any cover for breaking into tears.

  He didn’t seem to feel the need, but nodded at Philly’s statement, interested in Philly’s experience. Instead of asking for more of the story, however, Dave appeared to hear a different direction from some inner voice. “You know, Philly, I feel like I should really emphasize that not all Christians are going to accept your story. I might even say, you should be careful who you tell. There are some churches that will just brand you a kook, and show you the door, if you tell them about seeing Jesus and anything about healing.”

  Dave assessed the impact of his statement on Philly, listened to that inner voice. “Have you given some thought to attending church?”

  Grimacing in admission that he hadn’t carefully considered the future of his involvement with other Christians, Philly grabbed for what lay at hand. “Well, I guess I could go to my grandma’s Pentecostal church, or there’s this woman I’m just starting to date, she goes to a church somewhere around here. So I might try that out.”