Hell

I was late but he waited patiently. Not patiently enough to refrain from ordering without me, assuming that I wasn't coming so a plate of fried fish, Cole slaw and baked beans were steaming in front of him as I sat. He smiled as I sat in the booth across the table from him. He looked frail and beaten though his eyes had the sad look of gratefulness that I'd made it ... that anybody had made it ... that anyone cared at all.

I ordered a glass of wine and fried chicken with a smile.

His grey eyebrow raised in condemnation of the wine ... so I ordered a glass of water too.

"Hey Jim," I said, "Don't worry. I'm going try to turn the water into wine and the wine into water. That would be pretty cool."

Shaking his head and laughing, light flickered behind his eyes before they turned sad again.

I know the feeling. He'd been a a very public person who did really good things. Much more religious than I am, he quotes Scripture a lot and begins sentences with "God led me to do this..." or "Then God told me ..."

I've never figured that out. God's never said squat to me ... until after the fact. Looking back on my life's triumphs and tragedies, loves and losses, hurts and happiness, I can see God was involved in these things. I never recognize it until after the fact and I have a hard time trusting people who say that God told them what to do before they did it.

But Jim believes that God tells him what to do first and then he tries to do it. This always worked out fine until the last time God told him to do something.

"There are women and children living on the streets of Savannah," God said. "Help them."

"How Lord," Jim asked?

"Buy an old Bakery and turn it into a home for them."

So as he's always done, Jim listened to God.

Then all hell broke loose!

Apparently God forgot to tell the neighborhood surrounding the Bakery or the Politicians representing them. They rioted calling Jim all manner of evil. Then the people he worked for were instantly converted to popular opinion and they fired him on the spot. The newspaper reported it all so it was a public crucifixion. The providers of Sanctuary ripped his world out from under him not giving a damn and being righteous about it.

And he was left alone, unemployed, unsure of what to do, continuing to wait for God to tell him.

I knew him marginally. Sitting at the counter at the Breakfast Club I'd followed all of this in the Savannah Morning Blues and I felt bad for him. I've been there. He was being purposely hurt for doing his best to go good. It's funny how the Gospel story repeats itself for those who believe. Crucifixions are part of believing and if you haven't been crucified then you probably don't believe.

A mutual friend called me. "He could use you," he'd said. "Will you meet with him?"

It's funny that the mutual friend is the reporter who had covered his crucifixion.

So I called and we were sitting at Johnny Harris' and I reached out and touched his arm. He looked shocked and flinched in recoil. For months he'd been shunned. He was no longer used to being touched ... or wanted.

"Hey listen," I said. "God told me to tell you that you tried. You did your best and She appreciates it."

He shook his head at me referring to God as a woman (though Jesus described God as a hen gathering her brood to protect them. What's the sexual hang up over God? It's God for God's sake and God can be whatever God wants to be).

I squeezed his arm.

"You didn't deserve what they did to you. That Son-of-a-bitch who runs the Church that did you in ... and the politicians whose ass he kissed so that women and children can stay on streets ... they all have reservations in hell."

Diverting his eyes from mine, he smiled as his covered his face with his shoulder.

"You did good," I continued. "God likes good."

He cried.

It made me cry.

"You've been a blessing," he said. "I didn't know what to expect meeting you today but I didn't expect a blessing."

I smiled. "Yeah, I'm not all that," I answered, "I got blessings in my life and I don't mind hell. I've been there. I don't mind going back. Especially if I get my chance with the self righteous Sons-of-Bitches who who did this to you."

He cried again.

I cried again.

We left one another with an embrace.

As I walked out my blood pumped with anger at the Sons-of Bitches who run Savannah ... and the women and children they leave on the streets every night ... and a believer in God who they broke.

Sarah picked me up and I told her about it. I needed healing and she gave it to me. Then I prayed for him so that he gets it too.

God damned he deserves it.

And God damned there are people who deserve hell.