Cross Roads (19 page)

“And if I saw you in the life-after?”

“Well, this might sound like sheer self-aggrandizement to you, but it would be true for anyone you encountered in the life-after. If from where you sit now you saw me as I truly am, you would probably fall on your face in reverence and worship. The root would see the flower and it would undo you.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Tony, surprised at the answer. “You’re right, that does sound like you are full of yourself.”

“In life-after, I am everything that I was intended to be, more human than I ever succeeded in being on earth, and
fully dwelt within by everything God is. You have barely heard one note of a symphony, seen one color of a sunset, heard one drop of a waterfall. You are rooted in your life and grasping after anything that will bring you a sense of transcendence, even turning other roots into the imagination of flowers.”

Tony stood up and began pacing the room. “Jack,” he confessed, “my life that I defined as a success is actually a total shambles, and yet you’re suggesting that underneath it all, there is an unimaginable beauty? Are you telling me that I matter? That even though I am this ugly, ordinary-looking root, that I was designed and intended to express a unique and extraordinary flower? That’s what you are telling me… right?”

Jack nodded, again removing his pipe for a puff.

“And I assume,” Tony continued, “this is true about every human being, each person born—”

“Conceived!” interrupted Jack.

“Each person ‘conceived’ on the planet, each one living in life-before, each one is a root in which a flower is waiting? Right?”

Again Jack nodded, and now Tony walked over and positioned himself directly in front of this man, leaned forward and put a hand on each shoulder until their faces were inches apart. Through gritted teeth came the next words, biting and desperate: “So why all the crap, Jack? Why all the pain and disease and war and loss and hate and unforgiveness and cruelty and brutality and ignorance and stupidity and…” The litany of evils came spewing out, a list terrible in their speaking. “You know what we do with roots, Jack. We burn them, we use and abuse them, we destroy them, we sell them, we treat them like the disgusting pieces of detritus we think we are ourselves!” With that pronouncement
he pushed himself back and away from Jack, who had listened kindly to the tirade, never changing his expression.

Tony walked over to the window and looked out, seeing nothing in particular, and combed his hand through his hair. The silence, hanging thick and almost separating like a curtain, was brushed aside by Jack.

“The problem of pain,” he said softly, “is a root issue.”

Tony heard the answer behind him and dropped his head, looking at the floor.

“I don’t know, Jack,” he revealed. “I don’t know if I can face all my stuff. The pile is awful and high.”

“No worries, dear boy,” responded Jack kindly. “You will cross that road when you come to it. You must remember, Tony, that there is not one good thing, or memory, or act of kindness, not one thing that is true and noble and right and just, that will be lost.”

“And what about all the bad, the cruel, the wrong?”

“Ah, there’s the real miracle.” Jack must have gotten up from his chair because Tony now felt a firm, meaty grip on his shoulder. “Somehow the pain, the losses, the hurt, the bad, God is able to transform these into something they could have never been, icons and monuments of grace and love. It is the deep mystery how wounds and scars can become precious, or a ravaging and terrifying cross the essential symbol of relentless affection.”

“Is it worth it?” whispered Tony.

“Wrong question, son. There is no ‘it.’ The question is and has always been, ‘Are
you
worth it?’ and the answer is and always, ‘Yes!’ ”

The statement hung in the air like the last note of a cello, lingering while fading. Tony felt a tightening of the grip, friendly and encouraging, loving even, and Jack offered, “Would you like to go for a hike? See the property?
Meet some of your neighbors? You should probably put some clothes on.”

“I have neighbors?” inquired Tony.

“Well, not neighbors exactly. More like squatters. But I’m here to take you to meet them, if you would like. Up to you. I am going to be right outside while you decide.”

With that he exited, leaving Tony to a fluster of thoughts and emotions and even more questions, but the curiosity of meeting someone else in this place was intriguing so he quickly dressed, splashed some water on his face, smiled and shook his head at his image in the mirror, and headed for the door.

The morning was crisp, with that bite and shiver reflective of a change in weather. A few clouds had begun to form a colloquy on the horizon, not yet ominous but portentous.

“Here, take this.” Jack handed Tony a jacket as he stepped from his room. It was a familiar Columbia soft-shell windbreaker and Tony put it on, grateful that it wasn’t tweed. Jack was dressed as always, but carried a knobbed walking stick and wore an old tweed fisherman’s hat that begged a remark.

“Nice hat!” acknowledged Tony.

“Oh, this old thing? Well, thank you. I keep losing it and it keeps turning up. Not sure what else to do when it does but put it back on till it disappears again.”

As he stood and scanned the property, Tony was surprised that it seemed somewhat improved, as though a breath of order might have been blown into its former chaos but not much more than an innuendo. On a darker note, breaches in some of the distant walls were clearly
visible that he had not remembered being there earlier.
Probably just not paying attention
, he thought as Jack pointed down a path and toward a clump of trees, beyond which were barely visible smoke curls rising in a cluster.

“Neighbors?” he asked.

Jack smiled and shrugged, as if he were reluctant to say more.

As they walked Tony asked, “Jack, is this place, this in-between place that I know somehow is me… Was I brought here to be confronted with what I have done wrong?”

“No, my dear boy, quite the reverse,” Jack assured. “The in-between and the life-after is centered and built upon everything you got right, not what you got wrong. And it’s not that what you got wrong is inconsequential or just disappears; much of it is all around you as you can see, but the focus is on the rebuilding, not on the tearing down.”

“Yes, but—” Tony began, only to have Jack raise a hand to stop him.

“Yes, the old must be torn down for the new to be raised; to have a resurrection you must have a crucifixion, but God wastes nothing, not even the wrong we have imagined into existence. In every building torn down there is much that remains that was once true and right and good, and that gets woven into the new; in fact, the new could not be what it is without the old. It is the refurbishing of the soul. You are from Oregon so you should understand recycling, aye?”

Jack chuckled, and it made Tony smile.

“Well,” responded Tony, “I like the building part. It’s the tearing-down part that I’m not a big fan of.”

“Ah…,” sighed Jack. “And there’s the rub, isn’t it. There has to be a tearing down for the real and right and good and true to be built. There has to be a judgment and a
dismantling. It is not only important, it is essential. However, the kindness of God will not do the tearing down without your participation. Much of the time, God has to do very little. We are masters at building up facades, only to tear them down ourselves. In our independence we are very destructive creatures, first creating houses of cards and then knocking them down with our own hands. Addiction of every imagined sort, the will to power, the security of lies, the need for notoriety, the grasping of reputation, the trading in human souls… all houses of cards that we try and keep together by holding our breath. But, thanks to the grace of God, we must someday breathe, and when we do, the breath of God joins ours and everything collapses.”

Their pace had slowed as the path narrowed and became more erratic, small boulders and tree roots haphazardly strewn over what once was probably a smooth and easy trail. A noxious odor, subtle at first but growing as they proceeded, finally became a stench and Tony wrinkled up his nose.

“Whew, what is that smell? It smells like…”

“Garbage? Yes, that is what it is,” returned Jack. “Your neighbors are not the tidiest, and they waste no time cleaning up after themselves. They refuse to burn their own refuse.” He winked at Tony, pleased with both puns. “Look!”

About a hundred yards down the path, two large figures were slowly approaching. Jack held his hand up and Tony stopped.

“It’s time for you and me to part company, Anthony. I am not sure that I will again see you in the in-between, but assuredly, we will have many occasions in the life-after.”

“You’re leaving? But what about the neighbors? I thought you were going to introduce them to me.”

“I told you that I was going to take you to meet them.
Introductions are not necessary.” His words were kind and gentle, and with a bit of a sly grin he added, “I am not one of their favorite people, and our presence together would cause more confusion than yours alone.”

“It’s me that’s confused, as usual,” confessed Tony. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to, dear boy. Just remember, you are never alone. You have everything that you need for the moment.”

Turning, Jack gave Tony a huge hug and then tenderly, with barely a brush, kissed him on the cheek, as a father would his precious son.

Tony slid.

O
h, my gawd!” Tony was looking through Maggie’s eyes, looking through the kitchen window at two men getting out of a Lincoln town car in front of the house.

“Maggie?” Tony interjected. “What’s the matter?”

“Tony?” squealed Maggie. “Thank the Lord Almighty you’re here. Where have you been? Never mind that now; we have a crisis of magnanimous proportions. Do you see who is getting out of that car out there; do you see?”

Tony could feel her agitation flooding him like a sneaker wave, but he focused on the two outside who were in a conversation, glancing in the direction of her house. Suddenly, Tony recognized one of them. “Elder Clarence is a cop? You didn’t tell me he was a cop.”

“Clarence is a police officer. Why would I think to tell you? Why are your tights all twisty—have you done something illegal?”

“No!” asserted Tony. “It’s just unexpected.”

“Please,” exclaimed Maggie, “you—talking to me about unexpected? Oh, my gawd, they’re coming here! Quick, do something!”

Tony had no idea what that meant. In a normal situation and by her tone he would have looked for somewhere to hide, which in light of the current circumstances was absurd and laughable, and he started giggling. Maggie tore down the hallway and in a panic began applying lipstick and makeup. Tony, not able to keep from howling in glee, advised her where to apply it. Finally he calmed down, trying his best not to grunt or snort as another wave of snickering would start. Maggie glared at the mirror. If looks could kill, there would be a dead white guy in her head.

The doorbell rang. “What are you so freaked out about?” asked Tony.

Maggie whispered into the mirror, tidying one last bit of hair. “That’s Clarence out there, about the last person I ever wanted to see today, excepting for that other guy that’s with him.”

“The older white guy? Who is he?”

“The guy with the big Bible, that’s Associate Pastor Horace Skor, that’s who. If I remember, I’ll tell you about him later,” she added with a slight grin, which Tony was relieved to see.

The doorbell chimed a second time. “You better get that. They probably saw you at the window and your car is parked right outside. By the way, how’d you get that dent…”

“Not the time, Tony,” she snapped. “Grrrrr, you can be so irritating.”

She got up, smoothed her dress one more time, and headed for the door.

“Well, if it isn’t Pastor Skor. What a wonderful surprise.
And Elder Walker, so good to see you so soon… after… um, I was just getting ready to leave.”

“Well,” began the elderly man, “we need to talk to you.”

“… But if you would like a cup of coffee or tea, I have a few minutes. Come right on in.”

She stood aside as the man entered, followed by Clarence, his eyes an apology even though a barely visible grin played at the corners of his mouth. Maggie was flustered but smiled her best and directed them to the living room, where elder and associate pastor situated themselves, the former rigid and erect, the officer at ease and comfortable.

“Well, old Harry’s a bit pompous!” observed Tony. Maggie cleared her throat, more a warning to Tony than anything.

“I am so sorry, where are my manners? Can I serve either of you two gentlemen a cup of coffee or tea?”

“Nothing for me,” answered the pastor stiffly.

“I would love a glass of water, Maggie, if that wouldn’t be too much trouble?” The pastor glanced sideways at the elder as if communicating this was a formal time, not one where personal address was appropriate.