Short Stories

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It Was Religion That Killed Jesus
By Patricia Backora, author of the book
Tough Love in Christ's Millennium
Which you can order online from: http://www.publishamerica.com

Wesley was about to exit off the freeway, but he felt his hands freeze on the steering wheel. He felt a gentle caution in his heart, so he drove southward several more miles until he felt God's peace release him to take the next exit. Why did the Lord seem to be leading him toward Lucita, the most economically deprived district in the Los Perdidos metropolitan area? Could this where Wesley was to do his personal evangelizing for the day? Lucita was not Wesley's favorite choice of mission field, but he'd better not argue with his Lord.

Some twenty miles from his usual stomping grounds, Wesley felt like he was on another planet. The exotic smells and littered streets made a shiver run up his spine. Bored youths hung around stucco liquor stores, catcalling at girls. Wesley could hardly drive half a block without seeing yet another strip joint or barred and boarded up storefront which had gone out of business. As he drove down Lucita's main drag, he dreaded the stop lights where "squeegies" in backward baseball caps jumped in front of his car offering to wipe his windshield. At one light Wesley was surrounded by a big bunch of dreadlocked, tattooed youths who argued over which one would get to splatter dirty water over his windshield. Hand trembling, Wesley reached his hand out and offered the grinning gang a twenty. He gave the biggest kid a gospel tract. Wesley wondered if they were literate enough to read it.

After what seemed an eternity the light changed to green. Wesley felt led to turn left at a dilapidated supermarket. That Cha-Cha music is giving me a headache, he moaned. He honked at some little kids who sprang out into the streets, apparently unsupervised. "Turn here, Wesley," a Voice seemed to say his heart. Two blocks down Bolero Street Wesley saw a drab government housing project where some of the city's low-income families eked out a survival.

Wesley cruised the lanes of look-alike brick duplexes until a big, booming voice penetrated the air-conditioned comfort of his Merc. Armed with his satchel of gospel literature, Wesley parked his car and approached the house where all the commotion was coming from. Some man was hollering at a sporting event on TV. Wesley swallowed a lump in his throat and rapped on the door. Bloodcurdling barks sent a chill up his spine.

"Yeah?" a gruff voice responded, then shouted: "Shut up, Duke!" A massive, T-shirted man came up to the door and peered down at Wesley. He held a big mastiff by the scruff of the neck, and a cane in the other. The dog's eyes were red and menacing, and his fangs were long. He lunged at the screen door as if he wanted to eat Wesley for lunch. Annoyed, the man swatted the dog, bundled him into a nearby room, slammed the door on the animal, and cursed at him until he stopped barking. Then the cross-looking man returned to the front door and said to Wesley: "Whad'ya want?"

Wesley took a deep breath. He'd be wise to choose his words carefully after putting the man to such trouble. This man might walk with a limp, but he was no powderpuff. "Ah…sir, I was just in the neighborhood and wanted to leave a brochure with you inviting you to our church services…"

The man took the church brochure and frowned as he studied it. "You gotta be jokin'!" he snorted. That church is in Rosewood! What're you doin' in this seedy neighborhood anyhow?"

"Er…I just felt like God wanted me to go out and meet some people, and He told me to stop by your house, and so here I am. Sorry if I disturbed you." Wesley stepped back from the door, half-hoping the man would order him to leave so God couldn't expect him to hang around the area any longer.

The man shook his head. "You're either crazy, or you've got a few screws loose, or you want money. Well, if it's money you want, you sure did pick a sorry place to come after it."

"Oh, no, sir," Wesley quavered. "Money's the last thing on my mind. I just wanted to invite you to our services."

"I don't like church," said the man. "I got a thing about ties."

"Tithes?" Wesley said, wide-eyed. "Oh, no, sir, you aren't required to pay tithes at our church. You only give money if you feel led to by the Lord."

"Oh, I meant neck ties," said the man. "I only wear 'em to funerals, 'cause ya gotta pay your respects to dead people, ya know. They rub my neck raw and feel like they're cuttin' off my breathin' pipe. And I just got one suit, and the buttons keep poppin' off it."

"Sir," said Wesley, "don't let that stop you from coming. Several men in our congregation wear more informal attire and dispense with the tie."

"Still your church is an awful long way, boy, and it just don't make sense," said the man. He raised one eyebrow. "I feel flattered. You come all this way just to see me. Are you SURE you only come here to invite me to your church?"

Wesley coughed. "Ah…not exactly, sir. I don't mean to be inquisitive, but do you know Jesus Christ as your personal Savior?"

"What the heck do you mean by that?" said the man. "I got sprinkled when I was a kid, I thought that would get me into heaven."

"I'm afraid you've been misled, sir," said Wesley. "Want to know more about the real way to get to heaven?"

"Oh, heck, why not? " the man grinned. He stuck out a hefty hand. "Name's Mack. My old lady's out playin' Bingo but if you wanna come in and watch the game with me, I'll getcha a beer and we'll kick back and shoot the bull."

"Ah…I don't exactly drink, sir."

"But I read Jesus turned water into wine."

Wesley thought a moment. He found a ready-made exit from the touchy issue. "That is in the Bible, sir, but I do have to drive home today, and it wouldn't do to get stopped and breathalyzed by some cop on my way home, would it? You wouldn't want this greenhorn preacher kid thrown in the slammer, would you, Mack?"

"Nah!" Mack laughed. Maybe this kid wasn't such a stiff after all "Hey, I got plenty of Cokes, too. C'mon in, kid! Take a load off yer feet! What's yer name anyway?"

"Wesley, sir. Who's playing today anyway?"

"The Denver Broncos and Dallas Cowboys."

Wesley wiped his forehead. It was 104 degrees outside, and Mack's groaning evaporative cooler wasn't helping much. Wesley could hear the dog's restless pacing in the front bedroom, and his frantic scratches and growls. Mack hollered for him to shut up and lay down several times. To a young lay preacher from the upper echelons of society Mack seemed rather unrefined. But as the two men got to know each other better they he two men had a great time watching football, munching salted nuts and drinking Cokes. During intermissions Wesley was able to tell Mack more of the wondrous story of Jesus and His loving sacrifice for all mankind. Mack snorted. "Just look at all the problems religion is makin' in the world today, how many fanatics are riotin' in the streets in the name of their religion. How can you tell me religion is the answer, kid?"

"Religion is not the answer, Mack. Religion is the problem. I hate religion with all my heart."

Mack's ear's perked up. "I thought you come here to talk about religion, and now, you're tellin' me you hate it? What is it with you, kid, talkin' outa both sides of yer mouth? Here you are, drivin' a fancy car and wearin' a fancy suit and you come here and try and tell me you care about poor bums like me who hardly got two nickels to rub together?"

"Mack, don't ever call yourself a bum. Jesus loves you just as much as He does me. All of us are in the same boat. We're only here on this earth for a few years. Then we die and we take nothing with us. Want to know why I hate religion, Mack? Because religion killed Jesus. Are you interested in conspiracy theories, Mack?"

"Sure am, kid. I just love them flyin' saucer conspiracies on Talk Radio."

So you want to hear a real conspiracy theory, Mack? It was the religious men of Jesus' day Who conspired together to hang Jesus on the Cross. The religious leaders of Jesus' society thought He was cutting into their action, Mack. All they could see was Jesus was a threat to the Establilshment. They were rich dudes and Jesus and His followers were poor guys. There was this gang called the Pharisees, and they put out a contract on the one and only Son of God, Who was pure of heart and without sin. Jesus healed sick people. He raised the dead. He fed hungry people. He taught them about God's love. But those religious kingpins wanted Jesus off their turf. They were so jealous of Jesus they sold Him out to the Romans. They twisted the words of Jesus to condemn Him, and told outright lies about things He hadn't even said. Jesus' enemies accused Him of violating Jewish Law, though He had never committed even one sin in His whole lifetime. They hated Jesus so much they arrested Him and held an illegal trial in the middle of the night, a time when their Law didn't allow trials to be held. Those religious leaders broke their own laws to railroad Jesus to the Cross. I came here, Mack, not to preach religion, but to tell you about Jesus, Who died to give us eternal life and an eternal inheritance in heaven. Would you like to hear more about the wonderful inheritance God has in store for those Who trust in Christ as Savior?

Mack flicked off the TV and said, "I can find out the scores later. Let's talk. I had a rough time when I was a kid your age, Wesley. Didn't get much education, broke my hip on the job site, ended up on welfare. Life's been a real bummer. It sure would be cool if Jesus could give me a decent life upstairs when I die."

"He wants to do so much more for you, Mack," Wesley said. At length Wesley explained God's Plan of Salvation to Mack. He read a few Scriptures highlighted in His Bible. He told him that life on earth might have a lot of hard knocks, but Mack could have a glorious home in heaven and eternal friendship with Jesus to boot.

"Jesus wants to be your dearest Friend in this life, not just in the world to come," Wesley said. "Jesus knows what you went through as a kid, how you ended up with the problems you've got today. Just ask Christ to come into your heart and to forgive all the mistakes you've made. He'll wipe the slate clean and give you a new start in life, Mac. And anytime you feel sad or lonesome, or like nobody on earth cares about you, just tell your Big Brother Jesus how you feel. Would you like to pray with me right now and receive Him as your Savior?"

Success! Wesley sang all the way home. He couldn't wait to tell his pastor that he had actually won a soul to the Lord. Reverend Fullerton was an extremely busy man, and it took several tries till Wesley reached him on the phone. After explaining what had transpired, Wesley was eager to hear the pastor's response.

A long, awkward silence, then a grave, chilly voice: "You must realize, Wesley, that our parish is thousands of dollars in the red because contributions have declined over the summer months."

"Well, Pastor, how does that relate to soul-winning?" Wesley felt greatly abashed.

"It has everything to do with evangelization, Wesley. Jesus Himself told the Syro-Phonecian woman that He was only sent to minister to certain ones, not necessarily to every person in the world who had a need. How wonderful that Mack has learned about Jesus, but I am appalled that you actually invited him to visit our church."

"Why shouldn't Mack come, Pastor? Didn't Jesus call us to be fishers of men?"

"Certainly, Wesley. But why fish for MACK-erel when you can land a lobster? Ha, ha, a clever one, aren't I?"

"Pastor, something tells me Jesus is less displeased with MACK-erels than he is with cold fish who don't walk in His love."

"Wesley, are you casting aspersions on my ministerial integrity?"

"Pastor, you needn't wear the shoe unless it fits. I merely spoke of what I know about the Jesus I serve. Surely His heart is big enough to embrace the down-and-outers as well as the superachievers of this planet."

"I'm not trying to be cold and heartless, Wesley, but Jesus said new wine doesn't belong in old wineskins. You don't put old wine in new bottles, and you don't put poor people in fancy pews. You don't cast pearls before swine, either. How can half-literates like Mack fathom the deeper truths I expound from my pulpit each and every Sunday?"

"Well, Pastor, Jesus was able to bless even little children. He said you couldn't even enter into His Kingdom unless you had the heart of a little child."

"Still, Wesley, you can't teach toddlers post-grad calculus. You know as well as I do that there are plenty of churches in Lucita where Mack can fit in better than he would here. And instead of wasting your time in the slums, why didn't you head north to the more affluent suburbs, like Pleasant Hills or Brookhaven? We need to draw our congregants from, to put it succinctly, greener pastures. We mustn't compromise the essential demographics of our congregation. We have an obligation to our community to present ourselves as an example of success and diligence in temporal enterprises, according to God's Word. Now, tell me. What could your Mack possibly contribute to our congregation? Fifty cents a week?"

"If you'll read your Bible, Pastor, you'll encounter a Jesus Who wouldn't be able to contribute much to your kind of congregation." Wesley was feeling mighty steamed. "On at least one occasion Jesus had to take His Temple tax out of the mouth of a fish. Where do you get the idea that Jesus is a rich entrepreneur, Pastor?"

"My Bible teaches me that God owns the biggest ranch in the universe. The cattle on a thousand hills belong to our God. Does Mack own the cattle on a thousand hills, Wesley? Does that beer guzzler even own a dog?"

"You bet he does, Pastor, and one you better not mess with."

"Well, you better not mess with me, Wesley. You can't teach me anything. I've earned a postdoctorate in doctrinal forensics and you're just a wet-behind-the-ears know-it all community college student."

"Well, Pastor, at least I can quote Scripture, if you care to check it out. I Corinthians 3:21 says 'All things are yours.' This epistle was addressed to believers in Christ, regardless of their income level. And: Revelation 20:7 says: 'He that overcometh shall inherit all things'. Jesus didn't say that only affluent Christians could claim that promise. It is for those who overcome and triumph as born-again sons of God who faithfully follow Christ. That's part of what I shared with Mack this afternoon. Can you claim to be a follower of Christ, Pastor? I mean, the Jesus Who said He had no place to lay His head!"

The pastor barked in Wesley's ear: "You retract that disrespectful insinuation right here and now, or you can tender your resignation as Youth Pastor of Sycamore United, effective tomorrow!"

"As you wish, Pastor. But you aren't angry with me. You're mad at the Jesus Who didn't go to the same stockbroker as the Jesus you preach every Sunday."

"All I know, Wesley, is Mack needn't drive all the way up here to worship. Lucita is just as full of religion as our section of Los Perdidos."

"So was Jerusalem, Pastor, and it was religion that killed Jesus."

I do not subscribe to the Private Messenger Service. I can be contacted at:
[email protected] http://toughlovebook.tripod.com

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