As Far as the East is From the West (Servant of Light Book 2)

by Jeremy Finn

  "What happened?" Casey asked in a panic coming up behind him. "Are you all right?" Brad was in tow, tears in his eyes.

  "I...I don't know," he stammered. "Maybe the wind. Look, you guys step into the bathroom for a minute. I need to have a look."

  His wife didn't look any more assured, but listened to him. Her attention turned to calming Brad, who frantically asked questions as tears began to roll down his cheeks.

  It was the last thing Matt wanted to do, but the hallway was a choke point separating his family from whoever had invaded his house. So, he lifted the little flashlight and held it like a weapon at the ready. There was still no sign of anything in the kitchen, so he walked around the corner into the living room. At first, the narrow beam of his light showed only the windows and the painting hung at the end of the dining table across the room. As he swept it across the room toward the entrance to the kitchen, though, he caught an object that stunned him. It was definitely humanoid, but in a ghastly, distorted way. It looked like a topiary trimmed to resemble a man, but left neglected for months. And it moved. It actually moved into the kitchen under its own power. It made a soft rustling sound like leaves blown in the wind and disappeared around the corner. Matt let out a sharp little scream and dropped his flashlight. The light flicked off and he scrambled for it in the darkness. When he found it and tried to click it on, it did not work. He broke it.

  Then the rustling sound came again. It was muffled - in the kitchen, but certainly approaching, moving toward the hallway. Matt ran to the hall without looking back through the kitchen.

  "Matt, what is going on?" Casey demanded. She had stepped out of the bathroom into the hallway and was holding Brad in her arms. He had his face buried in her shoulder.

  "Get in the closet, now!" he ordered and pulled the door open beside him. She hesitated, her eyes went wide as she glanced over his shoulder, and he grabbed her and pulled her into the dark, small closet.

  As soon as the door closed, something began thumping violently against the barrier. Casey began screaming and Brad wailed loudly. Matt gritted his teeth and held the doorknob as tightly as he possibly could. Small cracks in the door began to splinter and paint chipped off. Matt's hands were sweaty and he was losing his grip on the small round doorknob. Just as he was deciding his only hope laid in pushing the door out with all his force and attempting to attack his unnatural adversary, it all suddenly ceased. Besides the crying and whimpering of his family, the only sound was the soft hum of the air conditioning powering back up. Matt looked at his feet and saw sweet, golden light flowing in under the crack at the bottom of the door.

  "Honey, it's ok," he assured. "I think it's gone."

  "What is it?" she cried. "Did you see it? Matt, I saw it. It wasn't human. It's some beast and it's still out there!"

  It took some time to bring her out of sheer panic, but after several minutes without a sound from beyond the door, she conceded to allowing him to open the door...cautiously.

  Matt very slowly slid the door open, his flashlight held ready to strike and his family behind him in the cramped closet. The hallway was empty. He jumped and his wife yelped when the door struck something, but nothing else followed. As he slid cautiously out of the space between the doorframe and the obstacle preventing the door from opening further, he saw a few leaves sticking out beyond the door. He backed quickly away down the hall and prepared to lash out with his flashlight. Still, nothing moved. Hesitantly, he pulled the door closed and found a large branch leaning against the wall of the hallway. It did not appear humanoid. It did not move. It looked like a branch you would find in your yard after a storm and you would complain about having to drag it into the woods so you could mow the lawn. Leaves were strewn across the carpet, but there was no threat.

  "You can come out," he said to his wife. She emerged slowly with Brad still buried in her neck.

  "I don't understand," she said as she saw the branch. "How did this happen?"

  "I don't know," was all he could answer at first. Then, despite the reality of all the horror he just witnessed, his mind began to reason away the obvious. "Maybe it was just the wind. You know, it blew the branch across the yard, blew it through the door, down the hall, and, I don't know, somehow caused it to smack against the door."

  Casey looked skeptical, but her mind was beginning to work the same magic on her. "I guess so. What else could it have been? That was really some strong wind."

  "Yeah," Matt replied. "Well, I'm going to go out to the shed real quick."

  "Why?" Casey asked.

  "I'm going to get the chainsaw."

  "But it's still raining. You're not going to cut that thing up now, in here?" she asked with a tone of warning. Her housewife instincts were already beginning to override her fear.

  "You bet I am," Matt replied. "It was probably just the wind, but I want to make sure Brad feels safe," he lied.

  Insight

  This story began at the request of my wife. We had a power outage one night that lasted for two days. After the whole ordeal, she said, "you should write one of your stories about this." Well, I'm never one to turn down a writing challenge, so I set about trying to come up with something that would be interesting. I am not a horror fan, but I do want to make this collection a rounded collection delving into a diverse number of topics and genres if they interest me in the least bit. I remembered how the trees swayed during the heavy winds as I watched just after the power went out. It seemed unnatural because it was so drastic. That was all I needed to launch the story. I took the character names off three Soldiers I was traveling with when I wrote this story - not very original, but it works and serves as a mini tribute to them, too.

  AND THE BEAT GOES ON...

  "Robert, I am very thankful you agreed to do the interview like this," Ling Ling said as he gazed up at the golden canopy of leaves forming an arched ceiling above the two men, more glorious than any cathedral in Europe. "I am so at peace in nature and this trail is one of my favorite spots on earth."

  "Oh please, call me Bob," the pastor replied. "I certainly don't mind as long as you don't mind if I record our conversation. You know, it would be a bit hard to take notes as we walk." He reached into his jacket pocket and turned on the micro recorder he would use to gather his notes for writing an article on the world famous classical pianist. This young man's recent turn to Christianity had been a real boost for the popularity of organized religion at a time when it could use all the help it could get.

  "You know, there was a trail much like this near the village where I grew up in China," the accomplished musician reminisced. "It followed a similar stream over rambling rocks up into the mountains and ended at a small temple."

  "Fond memories, I'm sure," Bob replied hastily. "Now that brings me to my first question. How did you come to a change after all? I mean, what made you decide to follow Christ?

  "Harmony," Ling Ling replied almost automatically, then remained silent as he seemed to ponder how best to explain his one-word answer. "There is harmony in yin and yang, do you know that? There is a balance in nature that is clearly evident, but viewing it through yin and yang paints it as an almost forced balance. If things tilt in one direction, the unknowable, impersonal cosmos will tilt it back and restore order. To me, though, there is a spiritual touch to harmony. I guess I could say there is a personality behind it - something far more knowable and personal than the cosmos."

  "So I am inferring you mean God, then," Bob checked to be sure he was following the foreigner as he forayed into unfamiliar theological concepts.

  "Yes, of course," Ling Ling confirmed. "You see, I grew so immersed in music. I realized it has design, you know like the notes on a page and the script that tells the musician to speed up, play softly, and so forth. That is the right way to play it, and you don't deviate from that. However, there is such a big difference between a musician with the technical skills to be able to read that music and just play it the way it is written, and the truly gifted musician who can t
ake that music and breathe life into it."

  "That's fascinating," Bob stretched the truth, "but could you take us back to why you chose Christianity?"

  "That is exactly where I am going," Ling Ling smiled. "When I look at this world, I mean really look at creation, it is so clear to me He did not just make it for practical purposes. Can't you see his emotion, His spirit and his character poured into it? I can identify with that creative joy every time I perform a piece of music. Musicians who stun audiences with their performances do so because the listeners can feel and understand their inner being through the winding tale of the music infused with their emotion and life."

  "Hmm, yes, I guess I could see that," the pastor tried to comprehend. "And like you said, every song should be a heartfelt offering to God. That brings me to another question, and I think you will side with me on this one. How do you feel about today's praise and worship? Isn't it too simple and carnal compared to the hymns of our forefathers, the foundational anthems of our church?

  "Well," Ling Ling mused, "I may be conservative in my musical tastes, but I am also very new to the Christian culture. So, perhaps it makes me a good person to comment on this. I am conservative by nature, but I have not grown up under the influence of any particular vein of Christian thought regarding music. With no offense intended, I would first point out the hymns many of you revere as sacred and ancient were quite contemporary at the time their composers wrote them. I believe it is an insult to the Holy Spirit to suggest He is any less capable of inspiring great works of musical worship in this age than he was in earlier ages."

  "Of course I don't mean to belittle the Spirit," Bob cut in, "but Christians were more on fire for God during those times. Today the world if full of tepid so-called Christians."

  "You know, I always heard that kind of thing from preachers on TV before I believed," Ling Ling observed, "but I know enough about history to see we are not living in some especially evil, backward generation. The world has been lost and defiant toward God in every age, and there are several periods where Christianity has born just as strong a hypocritical mask, if not stronger."

  "Well, I may have to disagree with you there," Bob mumbled.

  "Of course that is your choice, but you know one comparison that has really driven the point home for me? It's the similarity in the message and emotions behind two musical works from both eras. I am sure you are familiar with It Is Well With My Soul by Horatio Spafford? You know he wrote that hymn after he suffered financial ruin and his four daughters perished in an accident at sea. I find it strikingly similar to Stephen Curtis Chapman's expressions in the songs of his Beauty Will Rise album, which he wrote after his adopted daughter was killed when his son accidentally ran over her in a tragic accident. Both are devastating stories that make us question why God would allow such things to happen to men who followed Him so closely. Both also demonstrate the shocking response of the two men who, instead of lashing out at God in anger or self-pity, reached out to Him for strength and found the ability to be at peace through Him in the most difficult of times."

  "Well, okay," Bob said. "I guess I can't argue with that, though maybe Chapman was playing off his knowledge of the old hymn to try to impress others. But let me ask you something a bit more black and white. I'm sure you agree there is Godly music and worldly music, but where do you draw the line?"

  Ling Ling felt the conversation was starting to conform to an agenda, and felt a bit uncomfortable, but his love of music and desire to explain its richness gave him the willingness to continue.

  "I guess Godly music is any music that edifies God. But to say other music that does not edify Him is worldly misses the mark. I think there is another category you may be overlooking. It would be like saying a painting of the cross is Godly while a still life of a bowl of fruit is worldly. When Christians use worldly to describe something, there is a connotation of sinful or being against God. Certainly music with offensive lyrics would be contrary to what would please Him." "Sure, the words are a dead giveaway. You can't deny that," Bob agreed. "Don't you also think music can sound offensive, though, like most of today’s popular music? Would you say this kind of music has no place in a Christian's life?"

  "You mean like Bartok?" Ling Ling asked.

  "I'm sorry, what?"

  "No, who," Ling Ling smiled. "Bartok was a classical music composer, though many would describe his music as bizarre, unorthodox or even offensive."

  "Ok. I don't know about him. He must be an anomaly. I'm talking more about stuff like rock and roll, you know, especially music with a strong beat, with drums that imitate the heathen sounds of the depths of dark Africa," the pastor explained.

  "I think there may be some racist tint to that view," Ling Ling warned, "but regardless, I have to disagree with the whole notion that drums are dangerous. What is the difference between the timpani playing in a concert orchestra and a drum set providing the beat for a band?"

  "Well, that's obvious," Bob scoffed with noticeable irritation. "One is a soft accompaniment to a soothing melody while the other is a violent beat that causes listeners to grow excited and evokes primal instincts."

  "I will agree that rock can excite the feelings, but I would argue that is a characteristic of all music," Ling Ling countered. "Even classical music is not always soothing and often does inspire deep feelings and strong emotions. This is, like I was saying, because the composers have poured their feelings into the music. You know, all music has a beat, and we have a beat."

  "You mean our heartbeat?" Bob asked. "Are you trying to imply God made us like a piece of music? That sounds belittling of His creation."

  "I would argue the contrary. Creation itself was meant to be in harmony. He made it to be balanced and whole. Of course, sin has disrupted that harmony and thrown it off balance, but you can still see evidence of it. Just as He created man in His image and different from all other created things, He set our lives to a beat. You will be hard pressed to find an equivalent in the rest of nature. That stream running alongside us creates a soothing sound, but it is random and erratic. Your heart, however, maintains a predictable beat. Things run in measured cycles, like the earth's revolution around the sun and the deterioration of radioactive materials, but none of these are set to a measured beat quite the same as a man's life. Think about it, too. Just like music, the pace increases or slows with our emotions and condition. Only that which is made in the image of God for the purpose of worshipping Him was endowed with a beat. It animates us and paces our lives. You know that is the purpose of our creation, right - to worship Him? What better way to imbed that purpose than to set our lives to a beat? We feel compelled to sing and make joyful sounds to Him. Music is an innate reaction born of our relationship with Him and desire to thank and adore Him."

  "It's an interesting thought," Bob admitted, "but I think you are stretching the idea too far. Regardless, I would still argue there is a marked difference between popular and conservative music that directly reflects sets of values."

  "Yes, Pastor Jones, I can see that, and it grows apparent I will not be able to convince you otherwise," the musician sighed.

  This was effectively the end of the interview. Both men had expressed their heartfelt opinions, and both believed they were in line with the heart of God on the matter. Ling Ling was disappointed he could not bring Bob to a deeper understanding of God's character and creative genius. Bob was disappointed he could not make Ling Ling understand the pagan influences that had crept into his mind and made him morally weak and compromising.

  In the end, the pastor decided to publish a rather derogatory article based on the conversation. Unfortunately for him, the article never made it to the press. Mr. Jones died suddenly of a heart attack before it could be published. For him, the beat just could not go on.

  Insight

  Lots of inspiration was packed into this little, normal sort of story. I did feel I was writing too many tales that had some extraordinary circumstances or unusual twists. I shou
ld every now and then write one that takes place in a normal setting and displays normal life activities. The premise of music came from two sources. Primarily, my wife challenged me to write a story after we attended a children's concert by an accomplished pianist with a name similar to the character herein. Also, I have felt strongly about the whole praise and worship vs. hymns controversy. To me, it seems so petty and removed from the heart of worship. My intention was not to deride conservative Christians (I believe I am one), but I needed the stereotypical character to create the argument. Finally, my father is a cardiologist and that clearly weaves into the yarn.

  CALLER ID

  Hello?

  Hi, who is this?

  This is John. May I ask who is calling?

  You may, but you already know.

  I’m sorry. I do not recognize the voice. Are you someone from work?

  No, not exactly.

  Well then, I’m not in the mood for games right now. Could you please tell me who you are and why you are calling?

  Ah, why am I calling? Yes, that is the question I wanted you to ask me.

  Look, if you are not going to tell me who you are, I am going to hang up the phone.

  But if you hang up the phone, you will not hear my answer to your question.

  I’m not so sure that I care. If I don’t know who you are, why would I care why you are calling?