Soul's Gate

by James L. Rubart

  Reece was dressed in his typical jeans and an old sport coat over a Jimi Hendrix T-shirt. At least he wasn’t wearing his hat. Marcus got out of his car and ambled toward Reece.

  “I’m glad to see you didn’t overdress for this morning’s service.”

  “I’m not good at pretending I’m someone I’m not.” Reece smoothed his jeans. “Are you ready?”

  “For what?”

  “For what’s going to happen in there. You felt you would be the one to see extraordinary things today.”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Ask the Spirit to show you exactly what he wants you to see. Give him rein over your mind and your heart and your spirit.”

  Ten minutes later Reece, Brandon, Dana, and he sat in a row toward the back of the church on soft blue chairs. The lighting was muted, big plants anchored each side of the large stage up front, and a huge polished wooden cross hung on the wall at the back of the stage.

  At exactly ten o’clock the drummer in the group to the left of the stage smacked his sticks together three times and the band kicked into an instrumental piece most of the 1,200-plus congregation clapped along to. Four women and two men pranced onto the stage, picked up microphones, and launched into a song as blue and red and yellow lights flashed on and off around them.

  After twenty minutes of worship and a few announcements about the annual summer picnic and an original play that would be performed a month later, the pastor of the church, dressed in a solid dark blue suit and crisp white shirt, clipped up the four stairs to the stage, set his Bible on the glass podium, and smiled as he glanced over the crowd.

  “It is truly wonderful to have all of you here this morning. If you’re here for the first time, I’d like to extend a special welcome and encourage you to fill out the visitor card in front of you.” The pastor smiled—a warm, genuine smile that filled his face and reached his eyes.

  “Before we dive into today’s teaching, let me ask you an extremely important question.” He paused and held out his arms. “Where does your strength come from?”

  No one responded. The pastor grinned. “That was not a rhetorical question. I want to hear it from you. Where does your strength come from?” He opened his arms wide and stepped back and forth across the stage.

  “The Lord!” someone a few rows back from the front cried out.

  “Yes. That’s right.” The pastor continued to pace and held his hand up with his thumb and forefinger a few inches apart. “You’re almost there, but there’s more. Think about it. Where does your strength in the Lord come from? Anyone? Bueller, anyone?”

  Some of the congregation chuckled—probably only those in the over-forty crowd or those conversant in Matthew Broderick movies.

  “Tell me, I want to hear it now.” The pastor put his hand up to his ear and hopped on one leg.

  “The joy!” a woman on Marcus’s left called out.

  “Now we’re cooking on high.” The pastor pointed toward the woman who had spoken. “That’s right, the joy of the Lord. That’s our strength. Today my prayer is you receive his joy in abundance.” The pastor returned to the podium and opened his Bible. “Can I get an amen on that?”

  A smattering of people called out “Amen,” and the pastor smiled and nodded. “Let’s try that one more time. Can I get an amen?”

  This time it seemed “Amen” roared out of every mouth.

  “All right.” The pastor picked up his Bible and walked out from behind the podium. “Let’s dive into God’s Word and see what he has for us this morning.”

  Marcus turned to Reece. “Although the pastor is a bit over the top, at least he isn’t lackluster.”

  “He’s a good man trying to follow hard after Jesus. He listens to God and tries to lead his flock well.” Reece sighed and zeroed in on Marcus. “I want you to watch him closely. I think you’ll see something in him few ever witness.”

  Marcus looked back up at the pastor who held his Bible out in front of him with one arm and motioned toward the crowd. “Will you stand with me now as we look into God’s Word for guidance and discover truth for our lives?”

  The congregation stood and Marcus and the others joined them.

  “From the book of James, chapter 1, verse 27. ‘Pure and undefiled religion in the sight of our God and Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.’

  “Now turn with me to Proverbs, chapter 20, verse 1. There we read, ‘Wine is a mocker, strong drink a brawler, and whoever is intoxicated by it is not wise.’”

  Both verses flashed up on three massive screens along the back of the church in white letters on a sky-blue background, with the church logo in the lower right corner.

  The pastor shut his Bible. “You may be seated.”

  As the congregation sat, something flashed in Marcus’s peripheral vision to his left. In the aisle next to him—as well as in the two others farther to his left—stood three men. He glanced at the two aisles to his right. Same thing. They were evenly spaced. One man at the front of each aisle, one in the middle, and one at the back. They wore dark suits that complemented their thick brown and black hair. Average looking. Average height and weight. Ushers? Their hands were folded, their eyes fixed on the pastor.

  Marcus leaned to his right and whispered to Reece, “Did I blink at the wrong moment, or did ushers just instantly appear in the aisles?”

  Reece whispered back, “No, you didn’t miss anything.” He patted Marcus’s shoulder. “Well done. Now watch closely. I’m guessing it’s about to get interesting.” Reece pointed at the pastor.

  Marcus turned his attention to the man, who had just apparently delivered a particularly resounding part of his message because the congregation cheered.

  “And I challenge you not to go to one R-rated movie the rest of this year!” The pastor slammed his fist against the podium, then turned and clipped back and forth across the stage like a rock star, whipping his audience into a frenzy. “Who is with me?” he shouted.

  As Marcus stared at the pastor, something grew on his back. Something made of cloth? No, it was a thick material, colored dark green and red. Then straps grew out of the top of it and around the front of the pastor, over his shoulders, and under his arms.

  A moment later Marcus knew exactly what it was. An oversized backpack stuffed so full it was surprising the seams didn’t split. The pastor staggered under the weight of the pack but kept his footing as he lurched toward the front of the stage. Then something else materialized around the pastor’s neck. Thick ropes—three or four at least—with overflowing bottles of water hanging off the ends. As the bottles materialized, the pastor’s head dipped down and he seemed to have trouble breathing.

  Heat rushed through Marcus as he realized what he was seeing. He’d prayed for his eyes to be opened; Reece had said it was going to happen. But this?

  Marcus closed his eyes and breathed deep. When he opened them the pastor was again bounding across the stage; the backpack and ropes and bottles of water had vanished.

  “Will you join me? Will you accept the challenge? Maybe alone you don’t think you can do this. But together—if we join together and hold each other accountable—we can!”

  He raised his arms high and shook his finger at the sky. “Between him and me and you, we will have victory!

  “Now look in front of you. There are special cards in the back of the seats. On them you’ll see a line that says Not One Sip. Below that line you’ll see Not One Movie. All you have to do is check the boxes, write your name down, and slip it into the offering basket when it’s passed.”

  The pastor stopped and placed his hands on either side of the podium and lowered his voice. “If you’re with me, grab one of those cards now.”

  Marcus closed his eyes a second time. Jesus, I am on the far side of comfortable, but I’m willing to go deeper if you want to take me there.

  When he opened them, the backpack had returned and the pastor held on
to the podium with both hands, his fingers turning white from the death grip he must have had on it to keep from falling over. An instant later backpacks appeared on the backs of at least half of the people in the room. Some bulged. Some were empty. Some were filled only slightly.

  Then a figure shifted in the corner of Marcus’s eye. It was one of the ushers. He walked toward a man who had his hand raised and had turned toward the aisle. When he reached the man, the usher held out two stones. The one in his right hand was large, the size of a grapefruit. The one in his left was massive, as big as the biggest watermelon Marcus had ever seen.

  The man on the aisle stood and took off his backpack, set it on the chair, and unzipped it. Then he turned back and glanced between the two stones, reached out his hand, and rubbed the surface of both. Finally he grasped the watermelon-sized stone with both hands and hefted it off the usher’s palm. His arms jerked downward with the weight of the stone and he staggered forward.

  The usher in the dark suit grasped his shoulder with both hands till the man regained his balance. The man said something to the usher. From the movement of his lips it looked like “Thank you.”

  Marcus pulled his gaze away from this bizarre exchange and glanced around the room. All over the same thing was happening. Men and women choosing stones and placing them into their backpacks or having the ushers do it for them.

  The pastor continued to pound out his message. “I challenge you to take not even a sip of alcohol for the rest of this year. I know many of you haven’t touched alcohol in years. Praise God that you haven’t. But many of you sitting here do imbibe on a regular basis. Every night you’re toasting your spouse or your friends with the mocker, the brawler.”

  More people raised their hands and the ushers moved to them like tigers stalking prey as the pastor continued.

  “What good can come of drink? Men, do you really need to have that beer with the game? Because it’s not a beer, is it? It’s two beers, three beers, four beers. Can you tell me you’d be having those beers if the Lord was sitting watching the game with you? Really? Of course not.

  “Am I telling you what to do? No. That’s for you and God to decide. But tell me if my words aren’t ringing true inside you at this very moment.”

  The weight in the pastor’s pack seemed to increase. Sweat ran in rivulets down his face but his voice didn’t waver. He grabbed the sides of the podium and took a few seconds to stare at each section of the congregation.

  “Yes. I can see it in your eyes. You’re ready. Ready to make a commitment to God.” He held his fist up. “No R-rated movies this year.”

  He slammed his hand on the podium again. “No alcohol.” One more slam.

  Reece turned to Marcus. “Go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Walk up there, to one of the ushers. You need to see what’s happening up close.”

  “I don’t believe this is the kind of pastor who would welcome an approach up the aisle in the middle of his sermon.”

  “That’s very true. Good observation.” Reece waved his hand toward the aisle. “Now go.”

  “I think you missed my point about the pastor. Which is why I can’t do what you’re suggesting.”

  “It’s not a suggestion.” Reece pointed toward the front of the church. “Go.”

  “He’ll see me along with the entire congregation.”

  “No, he won’t.”

  He stared at Reece. The man’s face was like granite.

  “Do you trust me, Marcus?”

  “Yes, I do, but—”

  “Then go. Now.”

  Marcus flipped his hands palms up and snapped them. “Do you have any counsel on what to say when the pastor asks for a reason for my actions?”

  “Yes. Don’t quench the Spirit. Stay with the vision. Don’t analyze what you’re seeing and don’t worry about the pastor. If he sees you, what’s the worst that can happen? He’ll ask you to go back and sit down or ask you to leave. You don’t know anyone here, so if it happens why would it matter? Just go.”

  Marcus glanced at Dana, who frowned, then rose from his chair slower than a hydraulic jack and took a tentative step into the aisle, then one step forward and stopped. He turned to look at Reece. The big man jabbed his finger at the stage.

  Marcus heard Brandon whisper, “Where’s he going?” Reece told him to stay silent.

  The pastor stared directly at him. Marcus froze. But the preacher continued the sweep of his gaze to the far side of the congregation as he rambled on.

  “Ladies, do you really need that glass of wine when you get home each night? Do you really need that margarita when you go out with your girlfriends for a night out? No! So join us, won’t you?”

  How could the guy not have seen him? Was it possible? Marcus took molasses-covered steps forward till he reached the dark-haired usher a few rows from the stage. The man turned with bright eyes and smiled. His teeth had to be professionally whitened. “Can I help you?”

  Heat flashed through Marcus’s body. He spun to find Reece but he had his head down.

  “You can see me?” he whispered to the man.

  “Yes. Of course I can.” The usher flashed another wide smile. “What can I do for you?”

  “But the pastor can’t see me. Or the congregation.”

  “They don’t have the eyes you have with which to see.”

  “What kind of eyes are those?”

  “Ones of enlightenment.”

  “Are you and the rest”—Marcus gestured toward the rest of the dark-suited men dotting the auditorium—“angels?”

  “Yes.” The man smiled again, even wider this time. “We are.”

  Marcus stared at the man. Unbelievable. Just like Gideon and Jacob and Mary and all the others—he was seeing them. Talking to one.

  “I’m gazing into the spiritual realm. You’re doing something for these people that can only be seen in the spirit.”

  “That’s exactly right.”

  “What is the purpose of the stones? Why weigh people down with them?”

  “Excuse me.” The usher shoveled another stone the size of a basketball into the backpack of a young woman a few seats closer to the front of the church. “As you can see, I am exceedingly busy at the moment, so this isn’t the best time to chat. Can we find some time later? Thanks so much for your understanding.”

  “Are there more of your kind of angels in other churches?”

  “I’m sorry, I just don’t have the time at the moment to converse. So I’d be grateful if you’d go back to your chair immediately, okay?” The man smiled and nodded as if that were the end of the conversation. He turned and pulled a stone the size of a grapefruit from out of nowhere and handed it to a middle-aged man to his left.

  “Answers would be greatly appreciated.”

  “As I said, this is not the time or the place. I have work to do.” The man offered a baseball-sized stone to a teenager, who looked like a young Mick Jagger. The teen snatched it out of the usher’s hand and stuffed it into his pack.

  “Enjoy,” the usher said to the teen.

  The teen nodded three times, then turned back to the pastor, and the usher turned to Marcus. “By the way, it would be best if you put what you’ve seen today out of your memory forever. Call it a dream, too much coffee this morning, whatever you like. Besides, who would believe you anyway?” The man took two paces down the aisle and pulled three more sizable rocks out of his pocket.

  It didn’t make sense. There was no way the rocks could have fit in the usher’s pockets. It was like watching a magician pull doves out of nowhere. But this wasn’t physical; it was spiritual. The usher displayed the stones for a woman who looked to be in her midseventies. The woman squeezed them as if she were trying to find a ripe pear and settled on the one in the middle.

  Marcus staggered up to the usher. “I don’t understand. How is it no one else can see me except you?”

  “You are starting to irritate me, Marcus.”

  “You know my name
.”

  “I know a great deal about you. And I realize you like to examine every mystery completely as good physics professors do, which is the reason you’re persisting in bringing my level of irritation to a point it normally does not reach. But since I like you, I will exercise patience and politely ask you one more time to leave me alone.”

  “What do the stones represent?”

  “Have your buddy Reece explain it to you. Now, please, leave me.”

  “Why is the pastor—?”

  “Hang on for just a moment, Marcus.”

  The usher shoved the rock the lady had chosen into her backpack, patted it once, then turned, stood straight, and moved his face to within an inch of Marcus’s.

  “Listen closely.” The usher pointed at his lips. “I’ve tried to be kind. But you obviously don’t understand that method of communication.” Lightning seemed to flash across the man’s eyes. “So let me be extremely clear. If you don’t get the hell out of here right now, I will personally bring a nightmare into your dreams tonight that will make every horror movie you’ve ever seen look like Sesame Street, then fry your brain so completely you won’t remember how to feed yourself.”

  A wave of frigid air seemed to pass through Marcus’s chest and his heart felt like it was being crushed in a vise. He stumbled backward and bumped the edge of the seat behind the woman. The little girl in the seat glanced into the aisle with a puzzled look on her face.

  Marcus jerked backward two more steps, his gaze locked onto the usher—who obviously wasn’t an usher. Marcus grabbed his legs hard to try to stop them from shaking, but he probably would have had more luck stopping a jackhammer from moving. After two more steps, he turned and stumbled back to the row Reece, Brandon, and Dana sat in. When he reached them, he lurched forward and caught himself on Brandon’s chair at the edge of the aisle.

  “Are you okay, bro?” Brandon stared up at him. “Why’d you go up there?”

  “He’s fine.” Reece rose and scooted past Dana and Brandon, grabbed Marcus’s arm, and led him to the back of the church where they leaned against the wall.