With a Rod of Iron: A Parable, page 49
They were leaving it all behind, what little was left of old friends, family, neighbors—everything they’d known for most of their lives. Not that they’d really been much of a part of the world these last four years, anyhow. They’d been huddled together, backs against it already. But now they were not even going to be in the midst of the world any more. They were heading for the mountains where they could await in perfect peace the coming of the Redeemer, the One who would finally put an end to the charade in Jerusalem.
“It’s only about a hundred miles,” said Ovid, looking at the folded map in his hand. “But it’ll probably take us a good five maybe six hours to get up there. We won’t be hauling sixty up that mountain this time.”
“They don’t expect us till supper,” Pastor Tantalus sighed, leaning back in the seat. The cab of a semi was surprisingly roomy. Back behind the front seat, there was a little room where one of them could stretch out and take a nap if he or she felt like it—except that’s where their teenagers were situated. “Brother Sisyphus said we’d be one of the first groups to get there—one of over three hundred congregations that have called to tell him that they’re coming. Brother Sisyphus told me he figures the callers are just the tip of the iceberg. He expects hundreds, maybe thousands will just show up unannounced: single families and individuals, mostly. But he said they’re ready. We’ll all go up to the mountain, cut ourselves off from the rest of the world, and wait. Brother Sisyphus said we’ll even make our own electricity up there. They got a generating plant, I guess—enough for a million people. Said there’s easily enough room for a million people to live, grow food—the whole bit. Ten thousand acres is a lot of room.”
“Fifteen and a half square miles.” Ovid nodded. “Enough for a fair-sized city, you keep saying. But I don’t know if you could really fit a million people into a space that size.” Ovid was thoughtful.
“It’d be crowded, especially if you need to keep some land empty for farming.” Pastor shrugged. “We won’t have anywhere near a million. Be lucky to get ten thousand. A lot of people won’t come. But the real Christians—we need to come together into bigger clumps. There’s strength in numbers; up in the mountains, all together—the evil ones won’t bother us. Not like they would have if we’d stayed where we were. You heard what the rental guy said.”
“What was that?” Cassandra didn’t know what the Pastor was getting at.
“He said we were blasphemers. Before you know it, they’ll want to kill the blasphemers. It’s always been that way. All through history, the ones who believed the truth were labeled blasphemers and heretics—and they were the ones burned at the stake and thrown to the lions. They’d have come for us sooner or later. That’s why we had to prepare, had to learn how to fight, how to use weapons.”
Cassandra nodded.
“But up in the mountains, maybe we’ll be safe. And we’ll be a bigger army. Be a lot harder for the enemy to destroy us united, instead of divided and scattered.”
* * *
Trees stretched their leafy limbs toward the sky like upraised fists. There were no trees in all the world like the redwoods of California. They said some of them were more than two thousand years old: mere saplings at the time of Christ’s first coming, they still stood on the eve of his second.
They eased their way through grinding gears up the last hundred feet to the shiny new metal gate that blocked their way into the promised land. A single guard, crossbow in his hands and a sharp blue uniform swathing his body, made his way slowly toward them, talking into a cell phone.
Ovid rolled down his window; he looked down at the man, who pointed his weapon up at him. “We’re from Parkersville Bible Church, he said. I’m Ovid Demeter—and Pastor Adrian Tantalus is here beside me.”
“You want to step out of the truck a minute?” asked the guard.
Ovid nodded—what else could he do—and opened the door. Pastor Tantalus followed him, but Cassandra decided to stay put. Pastor took over the conversation, speaking easily to the young man. Cassandra could see a slight trembling in the guard’s hand as he spoke into the phone. He was excited—and terribly, terribly nervous. Who wouldn’t be, with this kind of responsibility, guarding the way into the Promised Land, the Haven for God’s people awaiting the Second Coming?
What a privilege it would be to stand guard duty like him! But so scary, facing a convoy of over fifty vehicles ready to come crashing in.
“Okay,” said the young man at last. “You’ve got clearance. Just follow the road—it’ll widen about a mile from here. That’ll take you to Holiness Center. Just stay on the main road—don’t be detouring off. Folks’ll be waiting to show you where to park and they’ll get you settled for the night.”
Ovid and the Pastor grinned, shook hands with the youth, and a moment later, they were back in the cab. As Ovid started the engine, the great shiny aluminum gate swung wide, leaving the way clear.
The road ahead was smooth, newly blacktopped, with a single yellow line down the center.
* * *
“We only have to hold out for a short time,” pointed out Ovid as they tramped up the hill above the Administration Building. In the three weeks since they’d arrived, nearly ten thousand Christians had shown up, singing songs, their eyes bright with hope.
But there were no houses for any of them.
And not enough apartments.
Cassandra and her family were living in a four-man tent.
There was no running water and they had to dig a hole in the ground whenever they wanted to go to the bathroom. Cassandra had managed to wash her hair only once since they’d arrived.
“I don’t care,” she groused. “We shouldn’t have to live this way. Even another day is a long time to wait. Why should we live like cavemen?”
Ovid shrugged. “We could be dead, if we’d stayed where we were.”
“At least we’d be with Jesus then.” Memories of cold nights and hard, steely ground congregated around the aching regions of her back and neck. “I’m not alone in this.”
Ovid sighed. “I know.”
The first couple of days it had been exciting and new, but as the days passed into weeks, it became apparent that conditions were not improving; the novelty of camping quickly wore off. Too much time without proper hair washing, with squatting over an open hole and pulling toilet paper from a roll on a stick. The women were starting to grumble and unhappy wives led rapidly to unhappy husbands.
“We’ve got a meeting about it,” he tried to reassure her. “I’m going now. We’ll be looking at our long term plans.”
“There better be something in the works,” she snapped. “And quick.”
“I’m sure there is.”
“That’s what you keep telling me.” She looked out over the scattered tents. “I’m glad it didn’t turn out to be a million.” Ten thousand was too many, already. It was almost impossible to take a dump without an audience.
With ten thousand acres, it shouldn’t have been so crowded, but everyone wanted to stay close to the Administration Buildings and the Administration Apartments—the only places that had real toilets and real showers. Cassandra felt lucky she’d even gotten to wash her hair once. Most of the women were still waiting their turn. Her next time came up in six weeks.
Of course, she could always use one of the creeks, but the water was icy.
Ovid headed down to the Administration Building for the meeting. She remained at the tent and stared out on the odd scene.
The parking lot at the bottom of the hill was jammed bumper to bumper with cars so that there was no space for any of them to move out. The keys were in the ignitions, but if anyone wanted to leave, it would be a long and grueling process, pulling one car at a time until a path could be opened....it was hardly worth it.
Sprinklers pulsed water in lazy spurts onto the green grass surrounding the parking lot. Behind a row of neat young saplings—willows she’d guess—stood a four story complex of offices and broadcast facilities. Atop the highest peak, a group of five satellite dishes sat aimed at geosynchronous satellites twenty-two thousand miles up in space.
An auditorium designed to seat ten thousand sat at right angles to the office complex, looking like a covered Hollywood Bowl. Three Sundays in a row all ten thousand members of the true Church of God had assembled for worship, lifting their voices in praise to God and prayer, begging Jesus to come soon.
Behind the administrative complex, but not visible from where she was perched, were the houses of Brother Sisyphus and his family; next to that, an apartment complex housed the administrative and broadcast staff. A cafeteria on the other side provided their food.
But the newcomers had to cook over open campfires and they had to stay in tents or sleep in the open or under hastily constructed lean-tos made of fallen branches.
Cassandra rose and jabbed at the smoldering embers of the campfire in front of her tent. A flame leapt up, but died quickly: she decided to add some more wood to it. Nothing else to do.
Her children were being taught in the auditorium; just because Jesus was coming back soon didn’t mean that school was going to be called off.
But Cassandra kept wondering about an unanswered question Jocasta had raised: “When Jesus comes back, will any of the stuff we’ve learned on this side really matter anymore?”
Still, the children had to be kept occupied. If they weren’t put in school, then they’d be bored and might start getting in trouble—and that was the last thing they needed under current conditions.
So for the time being, at least, the children stayed in school.
As she was gathering some fallen branches from a stack that Ovid had made behind the tent, Jocasta came wandering over. “You want to take a walk?” she asked.
Cassandra shrugged, then tossed the branches back on the stack. Walking sounded better than building a fire.
“Ovid at the meeting?” Jocasta asked.
“Yeah.”
“So’s Mark.”
“I hope they find out what’s going on. I can’t take living like this much longer.”
Jocasta wagged her head. “Better not complain too much,” she said.
“You like living this way?”
“Of course not. But I keep remembering the Israelites and how they kept complaining to Moses about the food and water. God killed them for that and made them wander in the wilderness for forty years. I wonder if that won’t happen to us.”
“Can’t be sitting here for forty years,” said Cassandra. “We can’t be that far off on the tribulation, could we?”
“You never know,” said Jocasta, without elaboration.
They began tramping up the hill. The tents and lean-tos lay scattered about the hillside, hidden under trees and clinging to the backs of rocks. A pall of smoke hung over the whole area, making for a hazy view. Ragged people, mostly women, wandered around as if in a daze, hauling buckets of water or bundles of twigs for fire. Cassandra didn’t see any smiles.
Most of the stuff they’d brought with them was still down by the parking lot, still stuffed away in the U-Haul trucks they had rented. Cassandra wondered how much keeping the trucks was costing them—not that money much mattered anymore.
“I think Ovid should just build a house,” said Cassandra, suddenly. The further from the administration building they got, the fewer campers they saw. Another hundred yards and they were past the last of them. The tents formed a ring all the way around the administration buildings, like covered wagons circled against attacking Indians.
“And how do you think he can do that?”
Fallen leaves and small branches crackled beneath their feet.
“He knows construction,” she said. “And there’s plenty of trees for wood. Why can’t he just cut them down and build us a log cabin or something? I’m tired of staying in a tent. What’s the point? We’re not wandering Israelites, and we’re going to be sitting here for years. You want to stay in a tent forever?”
“No.” Jocasta paused. “But I’m not going to complain about it. And if you were holy, you wouldn’t be complaining either.”
Cassandra felt a sinking in her heart. “This is a sin, isn’t it?” she asked.
“That’s why I wanted to take this walk with you; you’re complaining way too much; you’re grumbling and sowing discord. It’s wickedness from the Evil One.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not the one you have to be sorry to.”
“I need to pray,” she said, tears suddenly springing to her eyes.
“I’ll pray with you,” said Jocasta.
Together, they knelt on the pine needles; they irritated Cassandra’s bare knees—but she wasn’t about to complain now! She forced her mind away from the discomfort. “Oh God,” she murmured. “I’ve become like the ancient Israelites, murmuring against you and against your anointed leaders. I confess to you that I’ve questioned the wisdom of our leadership; I confess to you that I’ve grown embittered and angry; I confess to you that I’ve taken my eyes off you and I’ve started looking at the problems around me. I’ve been selfish and impatient over even a little hardship.” She paused, not sure what else to say. “In Jesus’ name, amen.”
Jocasta took up where she had left off: “Lord, help Cassandra realize the privilege we have just being here. We stand on the summit of history, with the promised land just beyond the horizon. Our sufferings are over meaningless vanities. We complain because we can’t wash our hair, because we’re sleeping in tents, because we cook over a campfire. Lord! How soft, how lazy we have become, so dependent upon manmade conveniences that mostly were never your intention for us anyway. Man was made to work, not to be lazy. This evil world has distracted our attention from you, from trusting in you, from listening to you. Thank you, thank you for putting us back in a place where we have to depend directly on you, where we no longer can push a button and get everything we need. Thank you, thank you that once again we have to work for what we have; no longer will we take life for granted. Instead, we see what a precious gift it is from you. Oh God, help us focus on the good you’ve given us, the opportunity to serve you. Let us not have our eyes on the hardships—that aren’t really hardships at all but joyful opportunities. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”
Cassandra lifted her head and saw the world about her in a new light. The fresh air was filled with the wonderful aromas of broiled food, cooked in the outdoors. People thought it was great to cook outside. Now they got to have the best kind of food every day.
Birds were chirping in the trees and the sun was beaming brightly. It really was a delightful day and a delightful time to be alive. How could she have been so blind?
“Thank you so much, Jocasta.” she put her arms around her friend. “I’m so sorry for how I was feeling.”
“That’s okay. You just have a long way to go before you become holy, that’s all.”
Cassandra nodded. Compared to Jocasta, she had hardly begun.
* * *
“You’ve done what?” Cassandra’s mouth dropped open in shock.
“We’ve given approval to build an apartment complex,” smiled Ovid. “Brother Sisyphus’s gotten another loan from the bank to build fifty apartment buildings, each with a hundred three-bedroom apartments. There’s a contractor already hired and the plans are set. Won’t take more than six months to throw them up.”
“But—”
Ovid held up a hand. “Brother Sisyphus already had it covered. Didn’t even have to ask him, and we never even brought up the little grumblings that people have had.”
“I repented about that today,” said Cassandra. She was staring at Ovid, who was sitting at right angles to her. The orange glow of the fire reflected from his face. Their paper plates were already burned to ashes in the flames, which sputtered unexpectedly, sending a shower of sparks into the dark sky. The orange speckles joined with the blazing pinpointed lights spread across the heavens.
“That’s good. We’ll be back in comfortable quarters before you know it.”
Cassandra didn’t know how to respond. She felt happy, but a little guilty about her happiness just the same—as if she’d been given something she didn’t really deserve, like an award for honesty over returning a wallet she’d just taken half the money out of and pocketed, with the lie that “that’s all that there was.”
“Six months? How so quick?”
“Already got the permits, already got the loan. The construction crew starts tomorrow morning at eight—that’s why we had the meeting today. Brother Sisyphus wanted us to know what was happening when the trucks and strange people started showing up.”
Cassandra shook her head. “I don’t understand. How is it we can still do all this—still get loans, still buy stuff?”
Ovid shrugged. “We’re still getting fresh food shipped in once a week—takes a lot to keep ten thousand people fed, but we’ve got the money, at least for the time being. Sisyphus said it’ll be enough till Jesus comes. After that, it won’t matter. That’s what’s so neat about borrowing the money to build the apartments. When Jesus comes, it all burns and we never have to pay it back. Ain’t that great?”
Cassandra nodded, though in the back of her mind, she felt an odd twinge of guilt. Something about false pretenses. But she quickly pushed it away.
Chapter Twenty-two
The auditorium was filled with the voices of ten thousand people singing The Old Rugged Cross, while a synthesized pipe organ blasted out the notes. Cassandra felt her heart soar on the melody, as if it might lift her to heaven, disappointment coming as the last sounds finally died away and the tiny figure of Brother Sisyphus, twenty rows ahead of her, announced an end to the day’s services.
