“Three,” I confirm. “I think it was one of his last sermons at Grace Covenant Church before he came to New Life. I watched them online.” Then, I dive into a speech I prepared months ago, but haven’t had to use yet. “Even though I went to an Episcopal church, I’ve always been interested in fundamental teachings. Where I live, there aren’t very many churches like that. So I found GCC online and continued watching Pastor Roland after he was hired by New Life.”
“Hmm,” Joy huffs as she sits back, seemingly annoyed that I know something at all.
Jack nods approvingly and his face indicates he’s formulating a change in game plan for the group. “How many of you are familiar with this text, forward and backward?”
Everyone but me and Matt raises their hands.
“I’m familiar with the popular stuff, I guess,” I offer.
“Me too,” Matt adds.
I mouth “liar” to him and he shrugs with a wicked grin on his face.
“I think what we should do, then, before we dive into what is different about the Gospel of John, let’s talk about some practical reasons for why it might be different.”
Jonah raises his hand. “I think one important factor is to note that this text was written later than any of the synoptic texts. So while, yes, it was written further away from the actual life of Jesus, it was written by someone who was older, wiser, and had more time to consider the events and their meaning in the world in which he lived.”
“Maybe,” Joy adds, “but wouldn’t the time away affect his memory?”
“Not of the important stuff, I don’t think,” Jonah replies.
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, think about your tenth birthday, for instance.” Jonah releases Eden’s hand, sits forward, and clears his throat. “The night of the party, you’ll tell someone who asks every detail about it. The next month, you’ll tell them almost the same, but the colors might be different or not mentioned at all, but the feeling of excitement and who was there are probably going to be identical. If I asked you right now about your tenth birthday party, you’d probably tell me a couple people who were there. Those are the ones who are most important in your memory. Same with the presents. The ones you treasured the most. But you’ll, without a doubt, be able to tell me how you felt that day. The Gospel of John is so passionate because he was able to focus on the feeling following Jesus leaves in the heart of the believer. And the gifts that were most important.”
I nod in approval at Jonah’s turning of the word gifts into something else.
“John was written,” Jonah continues, “by a man who walked with Jesus. Someone who was best friends with him. And by a man who spent the rest of the life spreading the Word. It was written by a man who got to look back at an entire life of following the one true God, and he penned what was most important to keep that following alive.”
Jonah licks his lips and sits back, taking Eden’s hand as she stares at him in awestruck wonder. I admit, I’m feeling a bit of that wonder as I stare. While I was able to spout off things I’d let soak into my brain from a few sermons I heard, Jonah is able to take the same information he’d picked up along the way and make it completely relatable to anyone, Christian or not. While he’s never said in my presence that he longs to be a pastor, I can’t help but notice the ease in which he spins his words—much like Roland. It’s no wonder Eden had her eyes set on him. I don’t doubt it will be hard for her to tear herself away from him if he decides pastoring is not the vocation for him—what with her ingrained desire to be a pastor’s wife and all.
“Couldn’t you also say,” Silas interjects, “that John was written by someone who knew just how to get the troops rallied, so to speak? That he didn’t write the most important stuff about Jesus, but had studied people longer than the others, and knew what language to use to get people worked up? That he learned enough about society in his life to play on what would stir them, rather than what was true?”
Bridgette looks annoyed. “So, you’re saying this Gospel isn’t true? Why would it be included in the Bible?”
“I’m not saying it’s not true,” Silas counters, seeming tense. “What I’m saying is that maybe he had more of an agenda than the others. Urgently so.”
“Ooookaaaay,” Jack draws out slowly. “Let’s take a step back. This is a Bible study, not a Bible debate. Let’s take a few minutes to read the first chapter, and we can talk about what the author is saying. Later we can get into the why.”
The group agrees and, in round-robin style, we read the first chapter of the Gospel. I’m feeling a familiar, but nearly forgotten, energy coursing through my body. It’s the kind of excitement I used to get in my social studies and English classes in high school. The kind of enthusiasm that comes from diving into something that I find interesting, be it social policy or the use of color symbolism in The Great Gatsby. I never thought that the words in the Bible would illicit such a response. I’m more engaged in this discussion than in any I’ve had at Carter so far, and I’m wondering if, maybe, with time away from my parents and the life I’ve grown up in, if my true passions have finally been allowed to surface.
I take a deep breath and remind myself to calm down. Every time I find something interesting like this, I want it to swallow me. Through my life, I’ve been certain that I’d be a lawyer, politician, and English teacher. Each with equal fervor. While I’m relieved to have some engagement, finally, in my life here, I’m prepared for the excitement to fade.
Thinking of Roland, however, I can’t help but wonder—is evangelism genetic?
I chuckle at the conundrum of science and faith that would present, and refocus my attention on the group and the hot topic of the Gospel of John.
“That was fun!” I say to Eden, Jonah, and Matt as we walk across campus to grab a quick coffee at the one place open after dark before returning to our dorms for curfew.
Eden and Jonah are still attached at the palms, and Matt and I are walking on either side of them, our hands in our respective pockets. I know hand-holding is okay, but they’re making a meal out of it. Rolling my eyes, I internally scold myself at the thought of turning into a prude.
“I had no idea you cared so much about this stuff, Kennedy,” Eden says, tucking hair behind her ear and seeming to struggle to make eye contact with me.
I wink. “I love a good mystery.”
“Seems weird that that book is so different from the others, right?” Matt offers, much to my surprise. “Like, if it were somehow discovered that he was drunk or high when he wrote it, then everyone here would need to calm down a notch, huh?” He holds his hands out, indicating the owner of the word, here. Carter University.
“How do you mean?” Jonah asks.
Matt chuckles. “Everyone drones on and on about being born again and the driving need to evangelize and it’s all, ugh,” he runs a hand over his head, seemingly aggravated, “it’s all a bit damn much.”
The group ignores his borderline curse word in favor of falling silent for a few seconds.
Jonah slows his pace as we reach the door of the cafe. “And if it were somehow proven to be one hundred percent true?”
Matt stops on a dime and turns on his heels, facing Jonah. “I don’t know, brother,” he replies. His face falls from cocky jock to brood in a second. “Guess I’d have some work to do, huh?”
Silence again.
“Look,” Matt speaks again, “I’m kinda tired. I’m just gonna head back to the dorm. See you guys next week.”
“See ya,” Jonah offers with a high five, and he and Eden walk into the cafe.
“I’ll catch up with you guys in just a sec,” I call after them, walking in the direction of Matt’s streetlight shadow on the grass.
I don’t say anything for a second when I catch up to him, instead walking next to him for a few paces, before he says, “Yeah?” as if we were mid-conversation already.
“You okay?” I stop while we’re still in the glow of the tall lights that line the walkway throug
h campus.
“This stuff is just so stupid.” He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek and looks up.
“Then why are you here?” I question. “Football isn’t enough to keep someone at a place like this. I appreciate dedication to something, but, please.”
He grins and looks down at me, his eyes on fire. “Neither is wanting to go against expectations or whatever line it was you fed me.”
Here we are, at a standoff that, clearly, neither one of us want to be in. The nervous energy is palpable and we break eye contact with each other.
“Thanks for asking me to come tonight,” Matt says, placing his bear paw of a hand on my shoulder. The sensation is startling. “See you around.”
“See ya,” I reply in a near whisper as he walks away.
I stand in the wake of Matt’s energy, as intrigued by it as I was by the discussion of the Gospel a mere twenty minutes ago. Watching until he disappears down the small hill to his dorm, I’m left standing alone with a million thoughts running through my mind. Namely, what is Matt hiding? His attitude and demeanor seem to be all over the place, like he can’t decide which skin is his. That, I can appreciate, but ever since meeting Jonah’s family and watching the strained interaction between him and his dad, it occurs to me that a lot of the guys at CU seem to be struggling with something.
I know that no matter the social profile of any given eighteen-year-old male, they’re the group most unlikely of all humans to discuss how they’re feeling. But the guys here seem to actually be toiling with them rather than pushing their feelings down or aside. They’re turning issues over in their hearts and their heads. During group prayer times, they’re open about saying they need prayer “over an issue they’re struggling with,” and sometimes give no more detail than that. I wonder what comes first: the compulsion to examine themselves or a prayer life. Would the guys in my old high school be so willing to look inward if they knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that God was right there with them—expecting them to lean on him?
“You okay?” Jonah startles me away from my internal philosophical debate. “He just left you out here?” His tone waxes irritation.
“It’s fine.” I roll my eyes and wrap my arms around myself, an autumn chill settling into my bones a month later than it would have in Connecticut. “I’m capable—you know what? Never mind. It’s just okay. Okay? Where’s Eden?”
“Mixing her drink. Is Matt okay?” Jonah’s question surprises me, as if I’d have more insight to his floormate than he would.
“Maybe you should ask him.”
Jonah winces a little. “I think I irritate him.”
“I think everyone here irritates him,” I admit with a chuckle.
“You don’t seem to. You got him to come to the Bible study.” Jonah’s eyebrows lift like he’s waiting for more explanation.
I shrug. “I don’t really know what to say. I asked him if he’d come and he said yes.” I leave out details of our playful, secular-type banter that finally hooked Matt into coming. “How are things with Eden?” I ask with a smile, wanting to shift the conversation.
Jonah’s face morphs into a reverential beam of light. “Good,” he says, obviously trying for modesty.
“Good,” I reply, sparing him my girly follow-up questions. I already know Eden wants to kiss him “so badly,” but they haven’t decided if they’re ready to take that step.
They’re so ready, in my opinion, that if they wait any longer their little heads might pop right off of their bodies.
Eden finally comes out, her carefully crafted latte in hand, and the three of us head back to the dorms. Jonah and Eden engage in an uncomfortably long hug at the fork in the sidewalk between our dorm and his, and he goes on his way, Eden and I on ours.
“What?” Eden whispers inside a giggle.
I bite my lip, grinning broadly as I open the door. “Just kiss him already.”
“Shh!” She playfully slaps me.
“What?” I laugh. “Are you afraid someone might hear? The tension between you two screams kiss.”
“How?” she asks honestly once we reach the top of the stairs.
I stop for a moment and cock my head to the side. “Maybe it’s just me,” I admit. “I’ve seen lots of teenagers kiss. It just looks like he really wants to kiss you. Like in The Weekend Boyfriend,” I suggest, naming the most recent romantic comedy I saw in the theater. The lead male had this smoky stare every time he was about to kiss the female lead. It would have been laughable if he wasn’t so sexy.
Eden shakes her head. “I wasn’t allowed to see that.”
“How about When Harry Met Sally? Any of the Twilight movies? Lord, those books made a feast out of the pre-kiss moment.”
Eden stands in front of me, looking lost. “Do you honestly think my parents would let me read a series about vampires?”
“Wasn’t it written by a Mormon?” I question, walking into our room.
She laughs. “That doesn’t help, actually.”
We lower our voices to whispers because Bridgette is already asleep. Being from such a large family does all kinds of sleep favors for her. She can fall asleep under almost any conditions.
“That’s it,” I say, climbing into bed. “I’m buying you an e-reader, and the first thing you’ll read is Twilight. Get yourself some pre-kiss knowledge, sister.”
Eden turns out the light and gets into her bed. “Kennedy?” she whispers.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For being so supportive of me and Jonah.”
I roll over to face her. “Of course. Night.” I smile and roll back to face the wall, wondering if I’ll ever be able to earn a man like Jonah.
I pray to God to show me why I think I’m not good enough. And what’s so special about a guy like Jonah, anyway? Or, I wonder with trepidation, maybe it’s just Jonah I find so intriguing.
Falling asleep, my mind is quickly overtaken by dreams. I see Jonah and Matt on their knees of the marble floor of the University Chapel, their heads bowed. All the girls, including me, are standing around them in a circle, and we’re holding hands. Suddenly, the floor trembles and cracks. Most of my friends scatter to the exits, but my feet are rooted in place. I stare at the two men, hearing Eden’s cries to Jonah over my shoulder. In a second, still in the haze of the most intense dream I’ve had in a long time, Matt and Jonah have blood pouring from their foreheads, and when they stand, I see the gaping holes in their hands.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Rebel Beat
Still shaken by my bizarre dream a few nights ago, I’m finding it hard to focus in my Old Testament class. Admittedly, it isn’t a new problem, but I actually find the book of Job interesting. Depressing, but interesting.
What the…what was that dream about? I’ve joked about Jonah being Jesus before, but Matt?
“Wait,” I speak while raising my hand, “why is this book here?”
“Excuse me?” Professor Towne answers, looking up from his bifocals.
Raymond Towne is an old school Southern Baptist. Rumored to be going more conservative as he ages, the school reportedly only lets him teach Old Testament classes since, increasingly, he can’t seem to appropriately instruct on the teachings of Jesus without risking a coronary.
“I mean,” I continue, “I thought the stuff in Ezra and Nehemiah happened before this…wait…when was this written?” While I’m impressed to have retained enough information to know that Ezra and Nehemiah should be after this, I’m frustrated when classmates around me begin chuckling.
“Ms. Sawyer,” Professor Towne says lightly, “the Bible is not written in chronological order.”
I look around at my classmates, focusing on Eden who is right next to me. “Well, now you tell me!” I exclaim sarcastically, eliciting laughter from most of the fifty-person class.
“Can someone please tell Ms. Sawyer, and anyone else who isn’t so brave as to admit they also didn’t know, how the Bible is actually arranged?”
; I’m slightly annoyed that this wasn’t covered on day one, but realize this is probably fifth grade Sunday school material, and I let the embarrassment roll off my shoulders. I’ve coasted by pretty well in this class thus far.
Several hands shoot up around me, but Towne’s eyes widen and then focus on a spot in the back of the class. “Mr. Wells?” He clears his throat in an apparent effort to hide his surprise. “Care to take a stab at it?”
All the heads in the room turn back toward Matt, but I leave mine facing forward. I know how it feels to be a leper, and I choose not to stare at his festering boils.
“Instead of being arranged in a timeline as whole, it’s arranged by type of literature,” Matt replies.
“That’s goo—” Professor Towne starts, but is cut off by Matt.
His voice is that of a trained public speaker, loud and full of confidence. Not at all gruff like I’m used to hearing from him. “In the Old Testament, which is relevant to this class, it goes like this: The Books of Moses, which are Genesis to Deuteronomy; the Books of History, Joshua to Second Chronicles; the Wisdom Books—including Job, which we’re in—all the way to the Song of Songs. Some people refer to those as poetry. And then you get the Prophets—Isaiah through Malachi.”
This causes me to join my class and crane my neck around. When my eyes land on him, his gaze shifts to mine and he quickly arches his eyebrow, then seems to talk only to me while everyone else sits in stunned silence. “The New Testament, in case anyone is wondering, starts with the four Gospels, then Acts—which is one book of history—followed by all the Letters, Romans through Jude, and then ends with a bang—one book of prophecy. Revelation.” He says the last word with the mystical wonder of a small child. Or the guy who does voiceovers for movie trailers. My ears are hot and I feel a little breathless, to be honest. It’s time to call my best friend, clearly, if I’m finding this kind of talk a turn on.
“Oh,” he adds, moving his eyes back to the professor, “each section is, in and of itself, in relative chronological order. But, to address Kennedy’s earlier question, it’s not known when the Book of Job was written. So they stuck it here.”
Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father Page 19
