It was a couple more weeks before Dan accompanied me to my church. Usually, I'd sit next to my parents, but this time I sat in the pews near the side exit, with Dan at my side. I sat upright as I'd been taught and waited for the entrance processional.
Once we were all seated again, I jumped slightly as the preacher shouted, "Sin! Sin! We are all sinners!" he proclaimed, "There is not one man, woman, or child here who is not guilty of sin. We are born sinners!"
He then segued into the Ten Commandments, paying special attention to the sixth, which, he said, included premarital sex, and homosexuality, not just affairs between married people. That was news to me. It was apparently news to others in the congregation as well as many of them turned to the person next to them, whispering questions.
Doom and gloom. Fire and brimstone shot from his eyes. I don't know what had gotten into him while he'd been composing his sermon but my stomach dropped when I glanced over at Dan, his face and body were rigid with anger. He had put a hand over his face and was shaking his head.
"And the worst sin," the so-called man of God said looking directly at Daniel, "is not listening to your curate in church."
When he opened his eyes and saw the robed man glaring at him, Daniel stood up and calmly replied, "Oh, that must be the lost eleventh commandment. Thank you for sharing it with me."
The man's jaw dropped and there was an audible gasp from the congregation. It seemed as though everyone was too shocked to say anything.
His face still a mask, Dan looked at me and quietly said, "You can stay if you like, I won't ask you to leave with me, but I'll be out by the car." With that, he calmly and quietly walked out, carefully not allowing the heavy door to slam shut behind him.
I looked back toward the man who was now glaring at me, but I wasn't intimidated and glared back. I admit to a feeling of pleasure when he lost the staring contest and went back to his sermon. I was torn. I didn't like the idea of Dan outside by himself waiting for me, but I did want to stay until the end of the service so that I could have a few words with the man. I knew that this was going to be my last Sunday spent in this church.
I also knew that my parents, who were sitting in their usual place, sixth pew, center, were going to have a few things to say to me about Dan's behavior. I glanced over and saw that they were stunned. My mother shot me a look, half anger, half inquiry, which I answered with a bland expression before turning my attention once again to the orator who assured the congregation that nothing we could do would ever be good enough to get us into heaven.
"Admittance to heaven requires perfect faith," he began, "the only ideal of perfection to walk this earth was Jesus. To strive for perfection, to believe that you are perfect or ever can be, means that you believe that you can be like Jesus himself, and that's blasphemy," he continued. The fire and brimstone flared from his eyes and lit up the church.
He paused dramatically while the church members gasped and whispers began to echo. What the hell was wrong with this guy today? seemed to be the question of the day.
Many of the younger members stood quietly and left. I saw more than one parent grab at their child's arm to pull them back but the hands were shrugged off and the youngsters, mostly teens but many twenty and thirty-somethings, continued on their way to the main doors at the back of the church. The last one out had no problem allowing the heavy wooden door to slam shut behind him... may, in fact, have assisted with the loud, resounding boom that followed.
Even some of the older members shifted in their seats, debating whether they wanted to follow the youngsters.
I glanced over at my parents and their mouths were slightly open, their eyes wide as they stared in disbelief at the man while they processed what he had just said.
"If anyone else would like to leave, I'll be happy to excommunicate them," he said, as though he was granting a favor.
The older members sat still.
One man who looked to be in his fifties stood up and said, "Well, if we're all doomed to hell no matter what we do, then there's no point in coming here, is there? Have fun in your empty church," he said as he walked out.
I'd also had enough. I had no idea what had gotten into the man but it was clear to me that trying to talk to him after the service would be pointless, so I stood and left. I deliberately didn't look at my parents.
It was a beautiful, sunny, warm day and Dan was lying on the grass next to where we had parked. His arms were pillowing his head, and his right leg was crossed over his left. He seemed very content, and I wondered if he might actually have fallen asleep. I knelt down beside him and called his name gently. He opened one eye and smiled at me. "Did church end early?" he asked, "I saw a bunch of people leaving."
"For a lot of us, it did," I replied. "Dan, I'm sorry, it's not usually like that, I swear."
"It's weird," Dan said conversationally, closing his eye and lying back once more, "my mother said that this is exactly what would happen. She said she just had a gut feeling. Even the sermon was exactly what she said it was going to be and suggested that I not come today."
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly as I tilted my face toward the sun. We relaxed there while I listened to car doors opening and closing, cars starting and pulling out of the parking lots. I didn't hear one horn or shout, not even the sound of car radios being turned on. Soon I realized that the background noise of cars was gone and had been replaced with the sounds of birds, and the slight wind stirring the leaves on the trees. I opened my eyes and saw that the lot was completely empty, save for my car and us.
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