Heaven and Hell: The Hero From Limbo Ch. 1
Religion has been described as a fanatical substitute for believing in nothingness. It is the ability of individuals to embrace such single-minded zeal that makes some prosper from garnering it. It takes charismatic leaders to dictate and define values, life choices, and one's own dignity. It takes a strong-willed, fiery demagogue to preach to the disenfranchised, and colonize hope in a world of despair and uncertainty. People require a preacher to lure them into the bright, warm cathedral light shining from a mosaic window while a disciplined gospel choir hums and sings with an overbearing echo of holiness.
Reverend Bruce Marlin overlooked his congregation from a wooden pulpit, and glared at a blur of followers who listened closely to him. He sighed into the microphone, and exhaled with an upbeat message. "Everything is possible for him who believes, it says in Mark 9:23. Today, this wonderful Sunday morning, we are no longer doubt the power of Jesus Christ, and our Creator. He who has shown faith in us has given us a reason to believe. He waits for us to have faith so He could have faith in us. Whether there is sin, or lust, or anger, or other dispositions of the downtrodden, He is the healer that prevents sin from holding dominion over our souls." His tone quickly changed. "Jesus was a wise man, a kind man, though even he, himself, was subservient to the Lord. The Lord knows everything. He knows what you do, and if you do not believe in Him, there is no guarantee your life on Earth will be graced with satisfaction. I know this. He speaks to me. I know."
Not one day in his 32 years on Earth did the reverend believe in God. The booming, persuasive voice that growled out of him was sufficient enough for many to believe that he was a canine of faith. The gray wolf stood tall with his clean, white robe and his black, half-rim eyeglasses. He often looked up to the sunlight shining through the cathedral windows, and smiled as he looked to a God that wasn't there. But that's not what he wanted everyone else to believe. Bruce thoroughly and satisfyingly illustrated his vision of God as an older gentleman in the clouds who was unimpressed with the transgressions of mortals that trembled before his feet. Bruce preached his vision, and his congregation would beg for forgiveness. He felt no guilt in stirring the current of emotion as he preached about God's wrath.
Once his Sunday sermon was over, Bruce took a handkerchief, and rubbed his forehead. When the church doors swung open, and everyone filed out, he felt a pleasant breeze rush in. He watched quietly from the pulpit as the congregation left, smiling and waving when visitors bid him farewell. He inhaled and exhaled deeply as a way of expunging the demons of cynicism from his body. He tapped his fingers on the pulpit until the doors closed. He was finally alone with his thoughts in the now-silent cathedral. In the late morning hour, Bruce felt loneliness. Standing like a stoical statue, Bruce -- previously blazing under the light from heaven -- now stood as an abundantly cold and distant wolf.
It was partly cloudy outside the church. Around the church lay a decaying, suburban sprawl that showed signs of an economic downturn, from which created a sense of need that the reverend gleefully exploited for personal gain. The sound of traffic and blaring sirens rattled across Chicago. Overhead, airplanes buzzed through the sky, and contributed inadvertently to the degredation of serenity.
Bruce could faintly hear goodbyes from churchgoers as he wandered to his car. When he retrieved the car keys from his pocket, and approached his vehicle, he saw a tall doberman leaning up against the church's outside wall. The doberman, dressed in gray-colored formal attire, looked up and waved at Bruce as he smoked. The doberman flicked his cigarette to the ground, and casually walked toward Bruce with his paws in his pant pockets.
"I enjoyed the sermon today. Thank you," said the doberman, who patted Bruce on the shoulder. He flashed a genuine smile to the reverend, who gently nodded.
"You're welcome. I'm glad you came."
The doberman laughed and waved his hands dismissively. "Oh, well... Originally, I thought you wouldn't want a guy like me around."
"Excuse me?" asked the puzzled reverend.
"Oh, sorry about that!" said the dark-colored canine. He bit down on his lip, disapproving his choice of words.
"Everyone is welcome at the church: boy, girl, small, tall, stripes, spots..."
"No, no. I understand that. I'm appreciative of your services. No, really. Let me introduce myself. Sorry for the awkward introduction. I'm Solomon." He offered his paw for a handshake.
Bruce accepted. "Nice to meet you, Solomon. Is there something bothering you, if you don't mind me asking?"
Solomon took a step back from the reverend, and looked up. He saw the sky, and smirked with amusement. The sky was a familiar place for Solomon. His muzzle tilted up toward the clouds drifting overhead. The peaceful blue yonder looked humbled while it stared at the crumbling world below. The world is full of misguided creatures, souls of honor, and dishonorable hearts: all mingling so effortlessly when life is observed from an ethereal, otherworldly place. With this perspective, Solomon found a sense of calm, but also a distinguishable wave of sorrow that weighed heavily on his brow.
Between Solomon and Bruce, there was a spiritual distance so great that Bruce somehow felt meagar and irrelevant. Solomon remained calm.
"You're unaware of God," Solomon suddenly declared. "Now, what I just said: that's something I won't apologize for. But, it's understandable, I guess. Sometimes, you -- and those around you -- talk about what God wants, what God likes, and doesn't like. He doesn't like sinners? Does He tell them to fuck off? Does He kick a man down when he made a mistake, or lapsed in judgment, or committed what you personally believe to be an atrocity? Don't kid yourself. I've seen self-righteous kids like you hiding behind the Bible, preaching end times, and defecating on the consciousness on civilization -- and you think you're personally accomplishing something from that?
"1145 A.D.: the County of Edessa was under siege. Bernard of Clairvaux had taken upon himself to preach the Crusade to his followers with the same fiery zeal as Pope Urban the second. Louie VII, and the rest of the kings and lords, sent good men of the holy cross to their graves as a means of appeasing their faith. While men, women, and children died for their faith within the smouldering ash and debris, Bernard simply said, 'Oh well,' and loitered in the cloister until he died... with his head buried in his paws. He realized he made a mistake: sending so many to fight a religious war that they ultimately lost. But you wouldn't know about that, would you?"
Bruce's cold eyes were fixated at the cement. He looked down, and found nothing but his shadow. His existence, at this point, could be summarized by a frosty chill that creeped down his spine. He felt twisted inside, which was amazingly in stark contrast to his outward, tidy appearance. As Solomon lectured him, he felt that his consciousness was finally scolding him after so many years. The perspiration, now aroused by his apparent tension, soaked his once-fluffy, steel-gray fur. He wanted to turn away from Solomon, but he couldn't. He wanted to get into his car, and drive away as quickly as he possibly could, but his mind was consumed with fear and guilt.
"You think you can dress up in a thick, white robe and suddenly be able to know what God thinks? Bullshit. You don't know what God thinks. You people sit and toil about, wondering about God. You know what occurred to me? When I heard you preach about a God that you think doesn't exist -- yes, that's right, I know -- I realized that you don't know who God is."
Feeling trapped, Bruce interrupted the rambling doberman and snapped, "I think I heard enough. Have a good day."
Solomon stood, dumbfounded. He pointed at the reverend. "Wait... you're leaving already?"
"What do you want, exactly?" said Bruce in an exasperated tone. "And why are you questioning my faith? What's the point?"
"You have an opportunity that could potentially save many lives, but you don't know it. You don't have the slightest clue. But I can help you out. See the light that is shining through the clouds? That's the sun: the center of the Solar System. Its diameter is around 1,392,000 kilometers, and its mass is 330,000 times that of this planet. What's bigger than the sun is a world, a kingdom, that acts as the 'checks and balances' for the universe. It's called the Kingdom of Arcadia. 'God,' the one you often refer to in your sermons, resides there. And you, my friend, have been invited by him. My task is to escort you there, actually. It appears that your footpaws are firmly planted on the cement, so I haven't scared you off yet. That should expedite the acceptance process."
Bruce rubbed his forehead with growing agitation. Solomon had an aristocratic tone, but delivered a seemingly absurd message that the reverend could not comprehend, but the "Kingdom of Arcadia" sounded familiar. He couldn't fathom the feeling of familiarity, but he wanted to think of it as a place he once visited in his past. However, nothing that Solomon said made sense, according to him. But why did he listen? He repeatedly mulled over the question for several minutes. He couldn't explain his insurmountable curiosity, which led to him standing still in front of the doberman for so long. He also felt insulted by the lecture. His irritation had finally boiled over his curiosity.
"I don't know what you're talking about. What you're saying is..." said Bruce as he stormed toward his car and opened the door. While his mind was jostling for rational thought, Bruce choked on his words. For a moment, he felt threatened by Solomon's aggressiveness and tenacity, and he wanted to escape as quickly as possible.
When the reverend turned his back away from him, Solomon chuckled softly. Realizing that the reverend wasn't going to take him seriously, Solomon revealed his large, black wings. Bruce heard something fluttering loudly behind him. When he looked over his shoulder and saw the doberman's transformation, Bruce dropped his car keys. His wandering eyes zigzagged up and down Solomon's body. Ultimately, the wings display went beyond his comprehension. No words could escape his lips -- not one -- to describe what he saw.
Solomon shrugged nonchalantly, and said, "Oh well. Now you know."
Bruce had been an athiest, preaching the word of the Gospel for money and attention. He concealed his athiesm by becoming overzealous in his outwardly beliefs and sermons. Until now, he felt like he committed no crime or sin, and placed the burden of responsibility on his followers and his congregation because they were "gullible." He felt he owed no responsibility to his followers except to preach words of wisdom that they wanted to hear. The configuration of his belief system, indeed, was coldly cynical and devious. When he saw the wings, he thought to himself, "I could be wrong about everything." Suddenly, his false, pious disposition was shocked into submission. Bruce's heart skipped a beat as he feared retribution. Now, he had to say something.
"This 'Kingdom of Arcadia' sounds familiar to me," Bruce recalled.
"It sould. Perhaps visiting would jog your memory."
"What will happen to me when I'm there?"
"It's probably best if He spoke to you about it. Follow me. Let's go for a walk."