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Rain (part 1) "Rain," he thought. "What a perfect way to start the week." The back bumper on his car was tinged with rust, unbroken except for a blue bumper sticker that read, "My boss is a Jewish carpenter." Right below, his muffler poured noxious fumes into the world as his car gasped to life. He descended down the driveway in reverse, the rain beating upon the roof of his car. It was raining so hard that when he looked back proudly at his house he could barely make out the silver 55 that hung above the front door. The car shook slightly as he turned onto the street. He sped away down Milton Street. Milton Street ran into Michigan Avenue, a major route into the city. He turned through the pounding rain into the crawling vein, and instinctively his fingers turned the radio on. "W-T-G-L, the Gospel Network," a pleasant voice spoke through the slight static and the din of the rain. He squinted past the wipers at the red brake lights in front of him. There were only a few blocks to go, but the hard rain still made him nervous. "Never know what the other driver's thinking," he told himself as he turned on his blinker to switch lanes. "And now the Reverend Esperanto," the announcer on the radio said. He listened as he waited for the traffic to move. "Thank you," the Reverend spoke calmly. "Today we will be looking at the first chapter of the book of Hebrews. I read from the New International Version: 'In the past God spoke to our forefathers through the prophets at many times and in various ways, but in the last days...'" A car over his left shoulder screeched to a halt, its horn blaring and waking him from a slight daze. In attempting to move into the lane on his left he hadn't seen the oncoming car through the rain. "What? What? Like anyone can see in this rain," he huffed as he continued to inch his way between the disgruntled driver's car and the brake lights in front of him. He felt a slight burning behind his ears, but it went away before he could really acknowledge it. Knowing he would be late, he turned the radio up louder, not to listen to it, but to drown out the rain. A few long blocks later he turned off into the parking garage of his building. --- "Hey, Jonas," a man in a trench coat said as he approached the car. Jonas turned off WTGL and stepped out of his car. "Good morning, Adam," Jonas said. He pulled out his briefcase and locked the door. "Heck of a drive, huh?" "God must be cleaning the gutters," Adam said. He chuckled and rubbed his stubble. "You are the only man I know who gets a five o'clock shadow at eight in the morning," Jonas joked with him as they walked to the elevator. "Yeah, well, it's one of those perks." "I heard Shira made you go to temple," Jonas said as they stepped between the silver sliding doors. "Yeah, it was alright," Adam pressed a few buttons. "They're going to start rebuilding the temple in Jerusalem. Supposedly." "Really?" "Yeah. I don't know. Somehow they worked it out. Must be that superman diplomat from the UN. You know, the guy who gets things done." "I didn't see the news, but it sounds like something he'd do," Jonas said as the bell rang and one of the lighted buttons went off. "Well, see you at lunch," Adam said as he got off the elevator. The silver doors shut behind him, and the elevator continued its ascent. Adam worked on the third floor. Jonas worked on the fifteenth. He glanced at his watch and sighed. He would be late again, but it really wasn't his fault. As though to taunt him, the lights went out and the elevator stopped. "What now?!" he exclaimed angrily, hoping that maybe someone would hear him and fix things. Listening, he was met with silence. He muttered, "Power must be off in the whole building." He reached for the door to try and push it open. "Jonas." He leapt back. He stood perfectly still, gripping his briefcase, wondering if he had actually heard his name. "Jonas." The voice was commanding. It came from everywhere. In the pitch blackness Jonas panted, his hair standing on end. He didn't know which way to turn to defend himself. His stomach cramped. The elevator shuddered, and he was thrown to the floor. "Jonas," the voice said for the third time, "Listen." "Who are you?" Jonas whispered back. "Where does your hope lie? Where does your faith lie?" inquired the voice. "Is this God talking to me?" he thought. His head was spinning. He tried to get up, but something inside of him told him to stay still. "Yes," the voice said. Jonas gasped. Through his mind flickered every Bible passage he could think of that had to do with demons and angels. Moses saw the burning bush, Jacob wrestled the angel, the vine gave shelter to - "Jonas," the voice called again. Strangely, his mind was calmed, his body relaxed. "I am giving you a gift. When you wish for the rapture to happen, I will make it happen, and my Son will be revealed in all his glory. When you decide it is the best time, come to me, and I will set into motion the Second Coming." Jonas thought--or tried to. His head was spinning too fast. He closed his eyes and opened them again despite the pain. Everything still spun. --- "Mr. Gottfreid?" "Mr. Gottfreid?" a voice broke the blackness. He started to move around, groping in the darkness. Then he realized that his eyes were still closed. When he opened them, he saw his secretary and co-worker leaning over him. "You all right there, Jonas?" his co-worker asked. "Yeah, John," he managed to say. He began to get up. "A little stiff, but al ... alright." "You look like you've seen a ghost," his secretary said. Jonas gave her an inquisitive stare, but her blank look communicated her ignorance. His mind was again at peace with his body; no illness gripped him. Rather, he felt electrified. "You sure you're alright?" John asked him. "You want me to call Gloria?" "No," Jonas said after a short pause. He was studying his hands, which felt as though they were racked by thousands of needles. Pulling himself up, he headed to his office. "I've got your coffee all ready," his secretary said, moving to open his door as John helped him along. "That's okay, I don't think I'll need it this morning." "What happened in there?" John asked as Jonas sat at his desk. "The power went off, right?" Jonas asked. John nodded and continued his questioning gaze. "I don't know, it shook a bit." Quickly Jonas started to leaf through the things on his desk. How does a person recount a personal message from God without sounding like a lunatic? "Well, I'll be next door if you need help or if you feel sick again." John headed out of the office. He shut the door behind him, and Jonas could see him quietly confer with the secretary. This didn't bother him; all he could think about was the voice he had heard. The Second Coming. He looked down at the papers in front of him, but didn't see any of the words. Instead, in the theater of his mind, he saw a young boy in Sunday school listening to a woman talk about when Jesus was going to come back. The images of heaven that the woman spoke of had never left Jonas. He recalled them many times through his life, a wellspring of hope he could draw on in times of dryness. They flooded back now more than ever. Golden streets, angels, Old Testament heroes, the prophets, Jesus, mansions, God on his throne. On their heels came memories of all the sermons he had heard in his life on the fire and brimstone of hell, and of how it would be worse for the unrepentant on that day than it was for Sodom and Gomorrah. Countless preachers, grave words of the end times and of all the horrible tribulations to come, flashed through his mind like a video highlight reel. Jonas smiled. The persecutions, the tribulations, the mocking hadn't come yet. He thought of his son, and the things in life he endured that his son had no idea about. With a thought, with a prayer, he could send his son and other children like him to the images of bliss running through his mind; they would never have to suffer as he had, or worse. His thoughts shifted to his father, sitting sick in a hospital bed, losing hope and life as his crippled body surrendered to the incurable sicknesses that haunt the old. He could save his father. He could send him to those images of bliss -- of no toil, no shame, no pain, no tears. Throughout the morning he thought of everyone he loved dearly, and that he had the power to send each one to heaven. He lingered on the idea. Words like honor and savior and commander swirled amid the images of joy and peace. |
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