Entry VII--Hash Wednesday (Part 4)

It's not an exaggeration to state that christianity's relentless opposition to scientific progress, from the Dark Ages to the evangelical agenda of our current government, has sentenced us all to die prematurely. Every person reading this book would already be enjoying the benefits of drastically extended--if not outright eternal--lifespans. (Realizing that "eternal lifespan" is an oxymoron).

It's just that christianity has become more refined over the years. Whereas all science was heresy in the Dark Ages, now it's stem cell research and cloning.

Of course, jaw dropping advancements in military high tech are always acceptable. Killing people, good. Extending lives, bad.

But when it comes to medical science, the world has been playing catch up since the Dark Ages. For every disease we cure, two more take its place. Sure, life expectancy had increased in the modern world but existence still ends much too soon much too late in our history.

But when (not if) that future arrives guaranteeing each mortal immortality, and with it, the abolition of death, then the ashes will only symbolize repentance for sins.

Though there's always the hope the culture has truly evolved at that point and even the concept of sin would be relegated to the dustbin of mythology.

It'd be a surprise if chrisitianity actually manages to survive then, when it’s no longer necessary because people are no longer dying. Eh, maybe it can fill a niche in Alabma somewhere.

Not that was fun to write.

Truth is, haven’t enjoyed myself writing that much in years. But in the midst of my revelry, a sobering thought lets itself be known and being the good scribe that I am, feel obligated to explore it here (besides there’s still more blinding blank pages I need to fill up):

There's only thing that could prevent our culture moving under from under the darkening shadow of the crucifix, and that's if the ashes take on a more literal significance if they are ever transubstantiated into the ashes of a fiery Armageddon, that some fundamentalist endtimers in political power think is the only true path to salvation.

They'd gladly blow up the world to hasten the return of their lord and savior, whom they believe will only come back out for an encore if Earth is in awash in flames.

And the ashes would rain down from a nuclear sky upon humankind, marking the foreheads of both the survivors and the dead, with a fitting symbol of a faith triumphant spreading death across the land.

Ash Wednesday would be followed by Ash Thursday, then Ash three day Weekend. Followed by by Ash Life. Making ash-holes out of each and every one of us.

That's it. Got it down to the last line on the last page. These pages weren't as hard to fill as I thought.

Not bad for a first draft written under the gun--or crop, as it were.

Skim over it, keeping my head down every second. May be riding high over what I've just accomplished, but still don't have the guts to look up before Ms. Cabal instructs me to do so and incurring Ms. Cabal's wrath...


"And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil...

Amen."

That's it. Got it down to the last line. Wasn't as hard for me to remember as I thought.

Not a bad rendition considering I hadn't said it since I was a teenager and being under the gun--or crop, as it were.

After a reflective pause, Rev Pleasant addresses me: "You surprised me there, Grimm. Listening to you recite the Lord's Prayer like that, why you sounded as though you truly believe."

Instantly raise my head, forgetting that I am most likely defying the good reverend in the process.

Can't help myself, I have to look Pleasant in the eye and assure him:

"I do believe, sir."

This man of God is not angered by my disobedience. Instead, humble satisfaction fills Rev Pleasant's expression, and in his shiny cheekbones I see the reflected satisfaction on the faces of the congregation in the pews behind my kneeling body.


Now that I've read it over can see this ash wednesday essay needs a helluva lot of work if I'm going to shape it into something readable.

Still, it was inspired. Like I said, haven't written with that kind of passion and purpose in ages, not mechanistically rote like I have for years.

Then, like I've been waiting for it all my life, Ms. Cabal's rich inquiry cuts through the silence:

"Finished, Darwin?"

"Yes, Ms. Cabal," I reply, with eyes continuing to be cast down on the book pages.

"You may look up, Darwin."

Thrilled to be finally given this opportunity but don't want to come across as grinning and banal, so crane my neck up slowly, with a measure of patience, holding my expression even and my eyes steady, preparing to meet hers...

But they aren't there. Rather, Ms. Cabal isn't there.

She's been replaced by the FireWheel; burning before me, towering above me.

But unlike the glare of the blank pages or the blinding light of the crucifix, the FireWheel is warm and inviting.

Not saying I'm going to leap into the dancing flames, but I don't feel threatened by it in the least. It doesn't bring any sense of terror and anxiety like it did in all my past visions.


In the same way I'm no longer intimidated by the bright reflective glare of the Crucifix.

In fact, no longer seeing the Reverend--just the Crucifix, my eyes locking with Christ's.

And with that connection, amazing empathy swells in my breast for this man/God who experienced so much pain just to save my sinful soul.

And just when I'm about ready to surrender my life to Him, there's something in His eye...

Did my Lord blink? No, it was a flicker...of a small flame, like you'd find on the single candle on the birthday cake of a baby celebrating his first birthday.

But it's no reflection; rather the flame appears to be flickering inside Christ's eye, the pupil replaced by flame, which grows larger with each passing moment...

Until Christ's Eye can no longer contain it and the fire melts away His eye and then multiplies, conflagrating Christ's head, and within 60 seconds--the whole bloody crucifix.

And with that, feel like I've staggered free from a confusing soupy fog, and I can see again.

More importantly--can think for myself again.

But that flame was not content to burn only the crucifix; no, they unite to reassemble into a familiar form--the FireWheel, which promptly sets the entire church ablaze, just like it did in St. Whatever, that time I was an extra.

What's better, the inferno sends the congregation running for their lives. Whate else are they to do? Their spiritual leader, Pleasant, along with the lifesize representation of their lord and savior have both been burned away and replaced by a rapaging FireWheel.

Now free to do as I please, twist my head over my shoulder, back at the terrified mob, to get a better look at their terror.

But it's the funniest thing...

As they dash past me, frantically seeking the nearest exit--or any exit, each and every one of the faithful--who by all accounts, should really hate my guts and curse my soul--stop and take the time to look me right in the eye...

...offering the widest smiles of gratitude you ever did see.

Damn, was hoping to mock them, but they've collectively left me dumbfounded, it's like they're thanking me for liberating them.

Wasn't my doing as far as I can tell, but that's never stopped me taking credit for another man's work.

Every one of the flock manages to skin out safely, which surprisingly, makes me feel good. Deep down, they're just sheep being led to slaughter, can't say I wanted any real harm to come to them.

I should really start looking at most christians as potential allies to be set free rather than as out-and-out enemies.

Meanwhile, the FireWheel does not diminish in the slightest, on the contrary it has grown to epic proportions, threatening to consume the entire church in its wake. This vast, impressive structure built as a holy shrine to the most worshipped deity in human history is taken down in a matter of moments by a figment of my imagination.

So powerful is the blaze that it begins to consume itself in the process, with nothing left to burn. Aye, the FireWheel stared into the abyss, and the abyss stared back.

And then, it starts really getting weird...