Church Shopping: A Work in Progress
And now after thirty-seven years of believing in almost nothing, Gary started to think he was missing out on something. After the divorce was finalized and Gary had relocated his entire collection of ancient gaming systems to the other side of town, he was struck with a rare case of what his physician called “early-onset hypogonadism; informally known as male menopause.” Usually occurring in seventy plus aged men, the sharp decrease in testosterone was accompanied with hot flashes, mood swings and insomnia; that last of which afflicted Gary for months, until he started shopping for churches.
Every night, he would bask in the ghastly glow of re-runs of Billy Graham and just as he would almost reach a hazy half-sleep, a rowdy, all-black, gospel chorus would burst out in “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.”
Men in cheap, plaid suits and women in candy-colored dresses, peered through the static at Gary from a room that looked like it might have a fireplace somewhere off camera. They looked Gary in the eye and said, “Believe what I’m telling you. I’m feeling your hurt. Right now, you’re so sick; you’re so much in poverty, you’re dying. But listen to me. I care, Jesus cares about you. Why don’t you pick up the phone right now and call that toll-free number at the bottom of your screen. Let me send you my free miracle olive oil shampoo. Let me rush it to you in the mail. Log in to our website. Right Now. Log in! I want, hallelujah, to send you this shampoo, free of charge. Let me help you. People who use this miracle olive oil shampoo have their AIDS cured, cancer gone. People who don’t have jobs give themselves a good wash and the next day God blesses them with a new job. I knew a man who was about to go to jail. I gave him my miracle olive oil shampoo and all charges against him were dropped. I want to help you. Jesus wants to help you. Please, praise God, call now.”
Gary never called, but some nights he would thing that maybe it wasn’t all a great scam. Maybe the olive oil shampoo and the Beulah-land water and the manna flour from heaven really were miraculous. Maybe the miraculous went hand in hand with the ridiculous. After all, Linda from South Carolina told the man in the bad suit that “The doctors gave me up twice. Epileptic seizures no medication could control. Every night in my sleep, I’m havin’ seizures. My husband got me sleepin’ crossways in the bed because I was always fallin’ out, breakin’ arms, legs, and everything. And last night I went home and I took that shampoo, it was two o’clock in the mornin’, I went on in that bathroom and washed my whole body with that shampoo. And last night I slept like a baby.”
But most nights, Gary just stared right back into their unblinking eyes and wondered why he lacked the dedication those people had.
So, mostly out of curiosity to find out whether people really spoke in tongues and writhed around on the floor as if zapped by God’s holy taser, Gary went to First Baptist Church, then Second Baptist, then Harvest Church, then First United Methodist, then Westside Church of Christ, then Friendship Church, then New Hope Ministries, and on Wednesday he would go to Sacred Heart Catholic Church. And those were only eight of the six-hundred-and-ninety-three churches that could be located on GoogleMaps.
Note from the author: This is about ten pages into the first draft of a new story. Feedback welcome. Thanks for reading.
