Cross Roads (23 page)

“That isn’t true,” snapped Tony. “And I don’t really deserve their respect or admiration.”

“Oh, Mr. Spencer, it pains me to hear you say such nonsense. You deserve all that, and more. Look at all you have done for those people; the least they could do for you is to acknowledge your efforts on their behalf. They owe you that much, at least. You’re not asking for the world. Just a little
recognition, that’s all. Your employees would be out of a job if it were not for you. Your partners would be working manual labor if it were not for your superior skills. And still they talk behind your back and plot ways to wrest your authority away from you. They don’t understand you. They don’t see you as the gift that you are. It hurts me to even think about it!” He put his hand to his immense forehead, as if mortally wounded, a look pitiable and sad.

Tony had voiced these thoughts only to himself. They contained a self-fueling logic, tapping into resentments and bitterness that he now recognized lay behind many of his actions. Confrontation with his own damaged ego was ugly and distorted. “I don’t want to be like that anymore!”

“Mr. Spencer,
there
is exactly a perfect example why you are such a great man. Listen to the authenticity of your confession. Well done! God must truly be pleased with a follower like you who is so humble and contrite, so willing to lay down self and choose a different path. I am honored to be your friend, to call you brother.”

“You are not my brother!” Tony exclaimed curtly. Tony struggled for words. Wasn’t Ego right? Didn’t God want Tony to change? To repent? But Ego’s words had a hint of ugly and wrong, almost like Tony’s old agenda was being replaced with a newer one, perhaps shinier, prettier, and more self-righteous. But underneath there was always an expectation, sometimes obvious, often hidden, but always still an agenda, the same performance-based agenda.

“I know what you are,” Tony declared. “You are just some uglier and maybe even more honest form of myself!”

“Mr. Spencer, you are right as usual. You must die to yourself, put others and their concerns and issues in place of your own needs and desires and wants. Selfless love, that is the utmost and most beautiful sacrifice and one that
God would be greatly pleased with. You must crucify the self, die to self, and put God on the throne of your life. You must decrease so that he”—he pointed up with a skinny finger—“can increase.”

“I suppose, I mean, that sounds right, I guess?” Doubt clouded Tony’s thinking and his heart was unquiet. He glanced at Grandmother, who looked directly at him but remained stoic and silent. Her eyes were affectionate and assured him she would not abandon him, but her manner told him this was his fight. Tony was irritated by Grandmother’s lack of involvement. How could she just stand there and do nothing? He was hardly prepared to deal with this.

“Of course, you are right, Mr. Spencer, as you usually are. Look no further than the example that Jesus set. He gave his
self
a ransom for us all. He became nothing so you could become everything. Don’t you see, that is what he wants, for you to become like he is,
free
.” Ego yelled the word, and it echoed off the stone towering overhead. He danced in a slow circle, raising his arms slowly and dropping them while in a singsong voice he declared, “Free! Free to choose. Free to love and live and let live, free to pursue happiness, free from societal and family bonds, free to do whatever you want because you are free!”

“Stop!” bellowed Tony.

Ego froze, standing on one foot, arms akimbo.

“That’s what I have been doing already, whatever I want, and it hasn’t been freedom at all.” Tony’s anger surged. “All my ‘freedom’ did was hurt people and build walls around my heart until I couldn’t feel anything anymore. Is that what you mean by freedom?”

“Well,” Ego said as he lowered his arms and planted both feet firmly on the ground, “freedom always has its price.” He held the last syllable and let it echo off the structures
before continuing, “Mr. Spencer, look at history. Some people always have to die for some to be free. No government or state on your planet came into existence without the necessary shedding of blood. When war is needed and justified, it is peace that is the sin, and if that be true for the government, it must also hold true for you as an individual.”

Tony didn’t know exactly why, but he felt Ego’s logic was sick and twisted. Ego saw his hesitation and quickly continued, “Look to Jesus, Mr. Spencer. Your freedom cost him everything! He gave his very life to set you free. This man went to God and cried…” Again Ego became theatrical, turning skyward with eyes closed as if in the deepest pleading and intercession toward heaven: “Dear God, pour out all your wrath, all the anger you feel toward this vile and wicked creation, for the myriads of disgusting activities of wretched humanity, pour out your just and holy fury, the bow of your wrath bent and the arrow made ready on the string, and justice bending the arrow at their hearts, pour your righteous wrath instead on me. Let me bear your cruelty, the just deserts of their wickedness. Burn me with your eternal fire instead of them, that your sword of divine justice that is brandished even now over their heads would fall instead upon me.” And with that Ego bowed his head, as if a mighty edge would cleave his being in two.

His words rang into the distance. There was silence.

“So, then tell me,” began Tony, his voice stronger but his tone soft. “Did it work?”

Ego snapped back to attention. He had not anticipated such a question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, did it work? Did Jesus bear the wrath of God successfully? Did it work?”

“Of course, it worked, this is Jesus we are talking about.” He didn’t sound completely sure.

Tony pressed the point. “So God poured out
all
his wrath and anger on Jesus instead of human beings and his wrath and fury were forever satisfied? Is that what you are telling me?”

“Exactly… well, not
exactly
. Great question, though, Mr. Spencer, excellent question. You should be proud of yourself for thinking of such an ingenious question.”

He was stalling and Tony knew it. “Well?”

Ego fidgeted, alternately putting weight on one foot, then the other. “Here is how you have to look at it, Mr. Spencer, and I wouldn’t be explaining this to just anyone. It’s rather hush-hush, you know, belonging to the category of assumptions better left unspoken, but it can be our little secret. You see, the truth is God is rather difficult to get along with. His creation”—he raised his palm, indicating Tony—“has disobeyed him grievously. As a result, the wrath of God is now a constant part of God’s being, like an ever-burning fire, a necessary evil if you would; and it continues to burn with an eternal flame, consuming everyone and everything that does not accept and appropriate what Jesus did. Are you following?” He raised one eyebrow, which stood out starkly on his pasty face, looking to Tony for agreement. “Well, regardless, you must always remember that the one constant about God is his anger and righteous wrath, which he has already fully poured out on Jesus. So if you want to escape the wrath of God, you have to become like Jesus, surrender your life and live like Jesus did, holy and pure. Be ye perfect, even as I am perfect… That’s in the Bible.”

“So, then,” Tony said as he looked at the dry and desolate ground at his feet, “there’s no hope for someone like me; that’s what you’re saying. I don’t have what it takes to live like that, like Jesus, holy and pure.”

“No, no, that is not true, Mr. Spencer. There is always
hope, especially for someone who tries as hard as you, who is as special as you. There is just no certainty, that’s all.”

“Then you are telling me that relationship with God is only wishful thinking, nothing to really stand on, just a possibility?”

“Please, don’t discount wishful thinking. Almost everything in your world was manufactured by wishful thinking, Mr. Spencer. Don’t sell yourself short. In your wishful thinking, your hoping, you become very much like God.”

“For God so loved the
world
…,” challenged Tony. It was part of a verse that Tony remembered from somewhere.

Ego dropped his gaze dramatically to the ground. “That is so incredibly sad, isn’t it?” he said and shook his head.

“Sad?” Tony refuted. “It isn’t sad. If it’s true, it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever heard! God loves the world! That means God loves those of us in the world. God loves me!” The realization ignited his anger, which flashed bright, and he embraced it, spewing it on Ego. “You know what? I don’t care what you want. You are liars and your lies are demonic…”

“Shush!” shrieked Ego, who regained control quickly and smiled broadly. “Mr. Spencer, we don’t use that word around here. That is just old-school mythology. We are not those… those ugly, detestable, and miserable creatures! We are sent here to help. We are spirit messengers of God, guides of light and grace, commissioned to ease your way and lead you into the truth.”

“A bunch of liars, that’s what you are! What right do you have to be here, any of you? I demand to know, by whose authority have you claimed a right to be here?”

“Yours!” echoed a booming voice from inside another building, the grandest in the settlement. Startled, Tony took a step back as the door slowly opened and a huge man
stepped out. An odor of pungent waste and sulfur emerged with him. Tony stood stupefied, face-to-face with… himself, except much bigger. The man towered over him, probably close to ten feet in height, but otherwise it was almost as if he were looking in a mirror. But as Tony looked closer, little details were off. This giant’s hands and ears were slightly too large, while his eyes were a bit too small and unbalanced. The mouth was too wide and the grin was askew. He carried himself with authority and confidence.

“Sosho,” muttered Grandmother to the giant, standing close to Tony’s shoulder. “Wakipajan!” By her tone, the strange words were not compliments. Tony was grateful for her presence, glad she offset some of his intimidation.

“And who are you?” demanded Tony.

“Come, come, Mr. Spencer.” He laughed, folding his arms across his expansive chest. “Surely you know me. I am your superior self, all that you had hoped and wished to be. It was you, with the help of a few of
your
benefactors, who empowered you to create me. You fed me and clothed me and over time I have grown stronger and more powerful than even you imagined, and it is now I who have been creating you. Birthed as I was in the deepest recesses of your need, you were first my creator, and I was in your debt, but I have been diligent and have repaid you many times over. I now no longer need you for my existence. I am stronger than you!”

“Then leave! If you no longer need me for your existence, pack up and leave… and take your cronies with you.”

This amused the big Tony. “Oh, I cannot do that, Mr. Spencer. This is my territory; this is my life’s work. You may have set the foundation, but it is we who have built upon it. Long ago you gave us our right to be here, sold to me your birthright in exchange for safety and certainty. It is you who now need us.”

“Safety and certainty?” contradicted Tony. “Is this a sick joke? I’ve never known either one.”

“Ah, Mr. Spencer, not the point,” prompted the other, his voice almost hypnotic and monotone. “It was never whether you actually had any true safety or certainty; it only mattered that you believed you did. You have a magnificent power to create reality from suffering and dreams, hopes and despair, to call from within the god that you are. We simply guided you, whispering what you needed to hear so you could realize your potential and create an imagination from which you could manage your world. You survived this cruel and heartless world because of me.”

“But—” Tony began.

“Anthony, if it weren’t for me,” the bigger Tony interrupted and took a step toward the smaller, “you would be dead. I saved your miserable life. When you wanted to snuff out your existence, it was me that talked you into living. I own you! Apart from me you can do nothing.”

Tony felt his footing giving way, as if teetering on the edge of an invisible cliff. He turned toward Grandmother, but there remained only an outline of her presence; she was fading. A curtain was drawn across his sight, and everything clear and tangible over the last few days lost clarity and color. The ground leaked a dark visible poison, rising like loose marionette strings around him, constricting his ability to see clearly and think lucidly. A ravenous despair consumed the delicate pieces of his heart that had begun springing to life and sucked them into the well of deep loneliness that had always scarred his heart. Grandmother vanished. He was alone and blind.

Then he felt the breath on his face, kissing him with the sweetness of an intoxication. The fragrance pushed out and replaced the foul stench that had dominated. And then he heard
the whisper, “You are utterly alone, Tony, just as you deserve to be. It would have been better if you had never been born.”

It was true, he thought. He was alone and deserved it. He had killed the love of everyone who had offered it to him, and now he was nothing more than a dead man walking. The admission swept through him like the last crumbling walls of a stronghold. Fingers of icy dread slipped like bands around his chest, penetrating through the flesh, reaching for his heart to squeeze until it no longer beat. He froze, stone from the inside out, and nothing he could do would stop it.

And then he heard in the distance, but drawing near, the sound of a little girl’s laughter and singing. He couldn’t move and was barely able to breathe. She would never find him in this inky darkness. She wouldn’t even know he was here. “God,” he prayed, “please help her find me.”

He saw a flicker of movement and light far away, but it grew, as did the singing, until she was standing directly in front of him, perhaps all of six years old, raven hair tied back from smooth olive skin by a wreath of tiny white flowers, a white trillium tucked behind one ear. She had stunning brown eyes and was all smiles.

So he wasn’t alone. She could see him. The palpable sense of relief loosed some of the tension in his chest and he took a bit deeper breath.
I can’t speak
, he thought.