Same River Twice: conclusion

continued ....

He looked at Parker, Darren and Brandon, singing as if this crowd were no different than any other. Even Phil at the piano. Well, Marshall wouldn’t settle for obscurity. Not this time.

~

“He’s got the fire! He’s got the fire!” Prophet Bart shouted, waving his black leather King James Bible in the air as Marshall sprinted down the aisle, infused with the gift of unknown tongues (though if anyone were listening closely, they’d note a resemblance between Marshall’s holy speech and that of his favorite cartoon character, Speedy Gonzalez: “Ariba, ariba! Undulay, undulay, ariba!”).

These nuts are in great shape, Marshall thought, already winded on his second lap around. He had no idea what his band mates thought of this, because he couldn’t take his eyes off the tottering, stumbling, leaping congregation, not to mention those passed out on the floor, some of whom were still speaking in tongues. He nearly collided with several worshipers, but he couldn’t slow his pace because two joyous runners had caught up to him and were riding at his heels, one repeatedly shouting, “Hosanna!” while the other screamed words that sounded maybe Japanese. Marshall couldn’t slow down, couldn’t stop, and couldn’t veer out of the way. He began screaming “Stop, stop!” to no avail.

Only Prophet Bart heard him, and mistook his plea for a request to God to ease up on the blessing. “No, Lord! Pour it on him, pressed down, heaped up, and running over!” Bart shouted.

The concrete support pole that stood between the back of the sanctuary and the vestibule was … hard. Harder than a beer pitcher. And of course it had always stood there, helping hold the roof up, but Marshall had not seen it. Not until his frantic course brought him smack into it and down to the floor, where he had a religious experience of his own. A long, dark tunnel, a bright light at the end, and a bearded man with a shepherd staff up ahead, waving Marshall off and commanding, “Go back. Go back. And straighten up.”

So Marshall turned around and journeyed long and far through the dark tunnel. When he could march no more, the tunnel vanished and he found himself staring up from a hospital bed into the amused, grizzled face of his neighbor, Carl.

~

And that is how Marshall Jameson came to be a fine Christian example, though ever an outspoken critic of the Pentecostal experience. He lost his place in the Ohio River Boys quartet to Buddy Jack Finkelstein, who went back to “Ben” after laying his burdens at Jesus’ feet. All Marshall said when Carl broke the news to him was, “But he’s Jewish.”

“Same as Jesus, son,” Carl had said.

Marshall now leads young children in Bible songs at the Same River Community Church. All the mothers rave about his ministry, though a few were appalled when he rewrote “Jesus Loves The Little Children” for the upcoming pageant:

Jesus even loves the bald ‘uns.
Folks who’ve lost their hair, like me.
He don’t care about our domes
If we’ve made our hearts his home;
Hairy folks are hell-bound if they disagree.

But one new convert loved it. A nice, single girl who said Marshall has an “amazing gift.” Her name is Jenny Lou Murphy, and she’s agreed to go with Marshall to the church hayride this coming Saturday.

THE END