The Runaway Prophet

by Michele Chynoweth

  Rory felt himself blush a little, but brushed off the compliment. He had only been a tiny part of the equation. Actually, as he recalled, Susan had come up with the idea to use the abandoned warehouse … Susan. Just thinking her name was painful.

  He missed her with an ache that was palpable, that hurt like a vise gripping his chest. He quickly changed the subject, forcing the vision of her face from his mind.

  “So you’re going to hold a church service soon?”

  “Sunday, to be exact.”

  So that was it. “Where?”

  “Well, I’m filling in at a brand new local non-denominational church here. I’m really nervous, actually, since I’ve only been preaching for a few months back home. And it’s not exactly your typical church.”

  “Why, what do you mean?”

  “On my second day here, I heard this parish had burned down so I called to see if they needed help. I guess I just felt the spirit move me. Next thing you know, they asked if I could give Sunday’s sermon and help them start over again. They are going to congregate at the Two Hearts Wedding Chapel. They’re allowing us to use the space until we find a permanent home. We’re paying top dollar so the chapel didn’t mind losing a few weddings for a couple of Sundays. I’m really nervous actually. I just hope some people show up.”

  “Would you like me to come?” The words were out of Rory’s mouth before he could take them back.

  Besides his dad’s funeral, Rory hadn’t been to a church service in twenty years. The divorce and losing his kids and working at a job he hated and feeling like all that life had dealt him was a bunch of hard knocks had hardened his heart toward anything spiritual or religious. He still believed in God, but after so many of his prayers had been unanswered, he rarely prayed anymore. And when he had prayed lately, his prayers had been more of the foxhole type, like on the cruise ship and the submarine when he prayed “Lord, get me out of this mess,” or caught on the run with Tiffany in Wildcats when he prayed, “Lord, please don’t let us die,” and of course, just recently, in the Nevada desert, when he was in despair and prayed, “Lord, just take me. I have nothing to live for.”

  So why he had just volunteered to attend a church service was beyond his comprehension.

  But Rick’s face lit up even brighter than it had when Rory had agreed to spend the weekend with him. “That would mean a lot, Dad.”

  Too late now, Rory chided himself. I’ll just sit in the back and leave early if it gets to be too much. Then I’ll book my flight to wherever.

  The tiny chapel overflowed with people that Sunday morning—young mothers with infants, teenagers and young people in their twenties, homeless men, addicts looking hungover—the poor, the outcast, the downtrodden, those on the fringes of society.

  It turned out that all the while Rory had lazily lain on the couch in their shared apartment watching television and playing video games, Rick had literally pounded the pavement on a mission to gather people to come to the first service of the fledgling new church called Kingdom Rising.

  He couldn’t offer them money or jobs or a cure for their diseases and addictions; he only offered hope and a better way to live if they attended for just one hour a week.

  Some arrived out of curiosity. Some came because there was the draw of free coffee and cookies, proclaimed on the fliers Rick and some Young Life helpers handed out on the Vegas street corners.

  And others, like Rory, came out of a sense of guilt and obligation.

  Rory didn’t know at the time that he would come to believe every single one of them would leave that service feeling like Rick had upheld his end of the bargain.

  The handsome young minister walked out to the altar at the front of the cheesy little wedding chapel as the youth band he had recruited played a contemporary Christian rock song. Pastor Rick was dressed in a navy suit with a white shirt and tie. Rory admired how handsome his son looked, and half held his breath hoping he would do well, whatever that entailed.

  After he prayed a blessing over them all, Rick read a passage from the Gospel of Luke, chapter seventeen, about the ten lepers being cleansed by Jesus.

  “Now one of them, when he saw that he had been healed, turned back, glorifying God with a loud voice, and he fell on his face at His feet, giving thanks to Him. And he was a Samaritan. Then Jesus answered and said, ‘Were there not ten cleansed? But the nine—where are they? Was no one found who returned to give glory to God except this foreigner?’ And He said to him, ‘Stand up and go; your faith has made you well.’ Now having been questioned by the Pharisees as to when the kingdom of God was coming, He answered them and said, ‘The kingdom of God is not coming with signs to be observed; nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There it is!’ For behold, the kingdom of God is in your midst.’”

  After he finished reading, Rick reverently closed the Bible, gently laid it on the lectern where he stood, and folded his hands for a moment, seemingly lost in thought.

  “So what is Luke saying?” he finally asked, addressing the audience assembled before him. Some fidgeted or were falling asleep in their chairs, and Rory wanted to shout at them from the front row, “Pay attention, he’s my son!” but he didn’t want to be disruptive.

  “What is Jesus saying?” Rick asked again to those who were listening. “I’d like to share with you my thoughts. First of all, I believe we’re all lepers—unclean in some way. We’ve all made mistakes, and while it may not always show on the outside, most of us are damaged in some way—sick, sinful, sad, and suffering on the inside. Most of you wouldn’t be sitting here today if you weren’t.”

  Just look around the room at this bunch, Rory thought, trying unsuccessfully to put his judgmental attitude aside.

  “But I also know we can be healed.” Rick walked over to the small, makeshift altar and lifted a wooden cross about a foot tall, held it in his hands for a few moments carefully and lovingly, then held it up for all to see.

  “All we have to do is believe we can be. Believe there is a God who loves us enough to make it happen.” He laid the cross back down on the altar and walked around front to stand among the motley congregation.

  “Yet most of us don’t believe there is someone who loves us that much. Nothing good ever happens to us, and we think we’re not worth it, or we refuse to believe it, or if we do believe, we’re just plain angry at God that things aren’t going our way.”

  Rory felt the jab of his son’s last comment prick his heart a little, but he made an effort to pay attention, trying not to get lost in his own self-absorbed thoughts.

  “And if something good does happen and we actually believe our prayers have been answered, at least temporarily, we quickly forget just days or sometimes hours later, becoming like the nine lepers who had been healed but weren’t grateful.”

  Rory thought about the way he had become so bitter and angry at God, enough to just want Him to end his life, all because his beloved car had crashed and he had been caught in a sandstorm. A car that I won in a game of chance, that I didn’t even earn.

  It dawned on him that if the events of the morning he crashed hadn’t unfolded the way they had, he wouldn’t be sitting here listening to his son preach right now.

  Unexpectedly, Rory felt an overwhelming urge to weep. It took everything in him to hold back the tears that welled in his eyes. Gratitude filled him, and he whispered a silent prayer of thanks.

  “I also believe Jesus is telling us to look around because the kingdom is right here, right now, and we are the people to uncover it, to build it, to make it shine. If we don’t, no one will. We need to help each other. Look around you. Look to your right and left. Introduce yourselves. I’ll give you a minute.”

  Rory wanted desperately to do anything but look around. He was afraid, but stiffly turned to his right and shook the dry, withered hand of an elderly man, crooked with arthritis, leaning on a cane and smiling at him through wrinkled, rheumy eyes. Rory could smell the alcohol on his breath.

  This could be
me in thirty years, Rory suddenly thought. An old alcoholic, all alone.

  Then he turned to his left and shook hands with a young man who looked Indian or Arab. He was handsome, probably around nineteen or twenty years old.

  Rory was puzzled at first as to why the young man was in a Christian church, since he thought most Arabs were Muslims. Of course, it is non-denominational, he thought. Still … Rory felt a wave of unease rush through him, realizing it was prejudice seeping through him like poison.

  He swallowed his pride and introduced himself.

  “I’m Rory Justice.”

  “Father of Pastor Rick?” The young man flashed him a beaming smile. “You must be very proud,” he said with an Arab accent. “And you must be a very good father.”

  “Why, thank you. And what is your name?”

  “I am Ahmad Jabar.”

  A wave of panic washed over Rory. Ahmad Jabar.

  Could it be a coincidence? Is he sitting next to me on purpose? Rory glanced around quickly but didn’t notice any other Middle Easterners.

  He was afraid to ask the young man his next question but felt too curious to hold back.

  “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Rafik or Ali?” Rory asked hesitantly, suddenly fearing for his life, but daring to look squarely into the young man’s intense dark brown eyes.

  “Yes, I am Ali’s brother and Rafik’s son.”

  Rory’s voice caught in his throat, and he couldn’t speak for a few moments. He took a deep breath and said, “You also must be very proud of your father.”

  Ahmad beamed a smile at Rory and put both arms around him, hugging him tightly. The tears that stung Rory’s eyes fell onto his shirt, and he sniffed back a sob.

  Rick held up his hands as a signal they were to finish their introductions and resume the service. Rory fought to contain his emotions once more and stood looking straight ahead.

  “We need to help each other—believe in the good, uplift one another’s spirits, teach each other the right way, be good examples,” Rick continued. “We are all important, all the children of God. We need to look past one another’s skin colors or nationalities, religions or social status. Jesus loved all the people He met and ministered to—especially the lepers and sinners—because they were the ones who needed the most help and had the best chance of reaching out for it in their desperation. We are the ones. We are the kingdom, right here, right now, because God has brought us to this place, in this time, with these people. And as the song says, ‘we’re all we got’.”

  Rory felt Ahmad Jabar’s hand touch his left shoulder in a comforting gesture.

  And as the youth group broke out once again in song, Rory sat in his chair, put his face in his hands, and wept.

  Rick said a final prayer over the congregation then welcomed everyone to have cookies and coffee. He stood at the back of the chapel where he warmly bade farewell to each person as he or she exited.

  Rory alone stayed, sitting in the pew, head in hands. He was all cried out, but he couldn’t bring himself to face anyone.

  When the last person had left, Rick sat down next to his dad.

  “Want to talk?” he offered softly.

  Rory raised his head. He could feel his eyes were swollen, but at least he had no tears left in him. He felt embarrassed to be crying in front of his son like this.

  “You did a good job up there, Rick.” Rory smiled weakly.

  “Dad, why are you crying?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, I guess because I was so proud of you.”

  “Dad, that’s not why. I think you need to let go of this … this stuff you’ve held bottled up inside for so long. You know how Christians talk about being saved? Dad, do you believe you’ve been saved?”

  “Oh, Rick, let’s not talk about that. Let’s talk about how great you did up there!” Rory forced a big grin. “You were amazing.”

  “Please, Dad. It all doesn’t mean anything when my own father is sitting here feeling this way. I want to help. Do you believe you’ve been saved?”

  Rory looked into the shining green eyes of his son, so innocent, so kind.

  “I don’t know what that even means.”

  “Being saved means believing your sins have been completely forgiven, and starting anew in that faith.”

  Rory sat for a moment thinking that’s it? But he couldn’t bring himself to answer the question.

  “Dad?”

  “I guess I’ve never really thought about it that way before. I always thought I had to be baptized in a lake or go to confession or something. I honestly don’t know.”

  “Have you forgiven everyone who has ever hurt you?”

  Rory thought about that for a minute. He certainly hadn’t forgiven his ex-wife Haley. He hadn’t forgiven his co-workers or his boss at AdExecs. And he most certainly could not forgive the Islamic State Mafia and all of the other low-lifes of Las Vegas who had taken advantage of other people and caused him to have to come out here and experience all of this suffering. He hadn’t even forgiven Susan for ditching him.

  “Have you forgiven yourself?” Rick asked gently.

  For what? Rory thought instantly. Where was I to blame in any of this? And suddenly, memories flooded back like a tidal wave: having an affair with a call girl right here in this city and keeping it a secret for so long; leaving his wife and children, blaming them for all of his misery; wasting all those years just getting by in life, working at a job he despised with people he loathed; escaping his father’s deathbed request by hopping on a cruise ship; dismissing the one woman he had ever truly loved because she wouldn’t conform to his plan; hating Las Vegas, the world, and everyone in it; and most of all, hating himself and hating the God who put him here.

  And the tears he thought had all dried up fell once more.

  “No,” he said, his voice choked with grief.

  “Let’s do it now then.” Rick took his dad’s hands in his own, closed his eyes, and bowed his head. Rory did the same.

  “Father, please allow your grace and forgiving spirit to wash through my father, cleansing him of all the pain and anger he has stored up inside. Help him to forgive others and himself so that he can be saved through Your Son Jesus Christ, can believe in You, and start his life anew. Amen.”

  Rory inhaled and felt a deep, cleansing breath fill him, touching him deep down inside. Suddenly he felt renewed. I guess this is what it means to be born again, he thought, and he smiled.

  He opened his eyes, and there in front of him, smiling too, was this amazing man that he, Rory Justice, had raised, but whom, he just now realized, God had brought into this world for His own special purpose.

  And I guess He has a purpose for me too. He smiled inwardly. I’ve been trying to run away from it all this time. I didn’t stop long enough to listen.

  “I need your help, Dad,” Rick said, and Rory had a hunch he was about to find out what he was supposed to do.

  EPILOGUE

  The clean-shaven young man dressed in slacks, a collared shirt and a blazer stood to the right in the lobby of Caesar’s Palace so as not to interfere with the hotel guests checking in and out.

  Yet he was strategically standing in a place where tourists and guests would pass by coming in or going out of the resort’s casinos or main tower of meeting rooms and hotel suites.

  He was unobtrusively handing out pamphlets to those who stopped long enough to take one, smiling a greeting but not saying much besides an occasional “hello” or “have a nice day.” His name was Tim.

  A small group of five middle-aged men, all dressed in expensive suits, walked by the young man handing out his pamphlets that night. It was 6 p.m., and they were headed out to party after attending a long day of conference sessions. One of them stopped to check his watch and his pocket for his keys right next to Tim, who smiled politely and handed him a brochure.

  The man called to his buddies to wait a second, took the brochure from Tim, and gazed down at it.

  “Ha!” He shouted obn
oxiously to no one in particular, although loudly enough for the rest of the group waiting for him to hear. “What is this garbage?”

  Tim stood by and said nothing as the man, who had obviously already had a few too many drinks at a happy hour, ranted on.

  “This guy is handing out Christian stuff. He must be one of those Bible thumpers, or maybe he’s just gay. Here I thought I was gonna get a coupon for free drinks at one of the nightclubs or better yet, info on how to find the hottest women in town. Vegas is going downhill fast. From what I hear, there aren’t even any really good strip clubs left, you know, the kind where you can get some action.” He swung his hips forward to show what he meant as his compatriots circled around him to take him with them.

  “Come on, Chad.” One of the guys in the group took the loud-mouthed man’s arm, coaxing him away from Tim. “We’ll find one.”

  Rory watched the scene unfold from behind one of the marble columns in the hotel lobby. He had arrived minutes ago carrying a box of brochures to give to Tim to replenish his stock.

  He recognized Chad and two of the other guys in the group from AdExecs. He wanted to stay hidden behind the column but decided he needed to say something after all.

  Rory walked up to them just as Chad made a show of ripping the brochure into pieces and throwing the tiny bits into the air like confetti while calling back over his shoulder in Tim’s direction, “Hey, here’s what I think of your gay Bible crap!”

  “Excuse me, that wasn’t very nice Chad.” Rory had walked quickly right up to the group and now stood inches away from his target.

  “I’m sorry, do I know you? Rory? Rory Justice?”

  It took a minute for Chad to recognize his former colleague. Rory had grown his hair a little longer and now had a mustache and short beard. They probably think I turned into some kind of hippie. Rory suppressed a grin. “Yes, it’s me. And I actually help pay for those brochures you just ripped up. I think you owe young Tim over there an apology. He was only doing his job.”