I found out the hard way why bringing up your religion in the workplace is a terrible idea. I’m agnostic, but I try to be thoughtful when other people tell me about their beliefs. I know there are a lot of great ideas in the religious texts of the world and I have found inspiration in them from time to time. But, I don’t really suffer from any death anxiety; and I think my morality is firmly rooted in secular humanism, and my good will and cheer is inspired by the hope of collective prosperity through scientific means. I would never begrudge someone their beliefs, especially if it gave them a sense of purpose, or drove them to do good deeds or eased their fear of the unknown. But, when I encounter people who believe exclusively and literally in one version of one sect of a religion, I can have a difficult time containing my disdain.
Which is what happened yesterday. We were having a team meeting. I’m the company’s go-to business-to-business guy. I sell mainly downtown. Rachel, a coworker, is great at winning over smaller and medium size businesses in the satellite neighborhoods of the greater metropolitan area. We’re in the “Bible Belt”, so it helps to share the faith with your clientele. We have these meetings at least once a month. Yes, they’re as horrible as they sound. Our boss is asking us to share “sales-boosting” ideas.
Rachel spoke first. She’s in her mid-forties, as sweet as a peach; would give you her last dollar and the shirt off her back if you needed it. But she always looks a bit dated: the kind of woman who wears long denim skirts and still feathers her bangs. Her only adornment was a tastefully small and subtle gold cross pendant on a gold chain. I could just imagine her knitting Bible cozies at night. She talks about Jesus every chance she gets, and in our neighborhood, it actually benefits her sales.
“Well,” she cooed. “I have found this new way of getting inspired every single night, and, it’s just really helping me out in every part of my life right now, including sales!” She smiled at the group and folded her hands neatly in her lap. “What I do is, I take my Bible, and I find a quiet spot, and I just talk to Jesus and I tell him, you know, ‘Lord, I am needing a pick-me-up right now.’ or ‘Jesus, can you help me with this problem I am having?’ I ask specific questions and then I take my Bible and I close my eyes and I flip through the pages and just put my finger down and read whatever verse my finger lands on. And, you know? The Lord just guides my hand to exactly what it is I need that day. And I have been feeling really blessed.”
Unfortunately, I have this imp inside of me that demands satisfaction and makes me do the wrong thing sometimes. So, as soon as she finished giving voice to this absurd recommendation, I flung my head back and let out a hearty belly laugh, followed by a snort. I tried to compose myself but I sniggered silently in my chair for another minute or two until tears of joy were squeezing through my eyelids. I finally got up and went out into the hallway to compose myself. But I’m pretty sure some of my big, bellowing cackles drifted back into the meeting room.
Once the imp was consoled, I walked back to the conference room and apologized to the group for interrupting. I stole a glance at Rachel and her eyes were red and watery. It killed any lingering amusement. I hadn’t meant to belittle her in front of the group like that. It was shitty of me to laugh at something that made her feel good about herself. I resolved to make it up to her later.
After the meeting ended and everyone finished their coffee and trickled back to their cubicles, I swung by Rachel’s desk.
“Hey,” I opened, sheepishly. “I’m really sorry I laughed, I don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s alright,” she offered lamely, but I could see she was still a little shaky.
“No, it wasn’t alright,” I pressed. “It was really mean and I’m sorry, and I’d like to make it up to you.” Suddenly inspired, I added “You know, Rachel, I am going to try your method. I’m going to buy a Bible after work and I am going to give it a shot, starting tonight.” I flashed her my million dollar smile. (well, it was actually a several thousand dollar smile, because those porcelain veneers are not cheap).
The color came back into her cheeks and she couldn’t hold back a smile. “Oh, Peter, that would be lovely! I think you will be surprised at how much you like it.” She grabbed my hand and the love and good will just poured out of her eyes when she looked at me in that moment. She really was the bigger man.
I went to the bookstore after work, sincerely intending to keep my promise. The clerk watched me meander for a while, then offered his assistance. He led me to the aisle with Bibles. It was literally a whole aisle. I had no idea there were so many versions of the Bible, and I didn’t have the first clue how to pick one.
“You’ve never done this before,” he confided.
“Nope.”
“Alright, well what kind of experience are you looking for and how easily to do you want to be able to read and understand it?”
“I… am looking for a real fire and brimstone experience and I’d like it to be as abstruse as possible.”
I could tell the clerk just fell in love with me. “HA! alright man. You definitely want the King James version then. It’s like the pure, uncut Word of God as determined by some English dudes in the 1600’s. It’s got lots of thee’s and thou’s, and it’s the version of choice by the really awesome snake-handling, faith-healing style churches.”
“Sold!” I declared.
Later that evening I sat down in my home office and unwrapped my shiny, new Bible. It smelled great and had a wonderful weight in my hands; I felt positively saintly just holding it.
Then a thought hit me: I was going to have to hide what I was doing. While I am a mild and understanding agnostic, my wife is a militant atheist. I tolerate her fiery attitude toward religion because it’s not the only aspect of her that’s fiery (giggity). But she would be stewing mad at me if she knew I brought a Bible into our home.
I did have a “man closet” (it’s a wimpier, less tricked-out version of a man cave). It’s my walk-in closet; roomy enough to hang out in. Sometimes I meditate or exercise in there, sometimes I take my computer in there to look at… my portfolio. In any case, my wife respects my need for some inviolate space, so she doesn’t enter my closet and she doesn’t disturb me if I am in there.
I entered my closet and considered how I could best set the atmosphere of a devotional chamber. I had some extra sheets so I draped them over my clothes and equipment. Now that it was completely white, it felt austere, but not quite sanctified. Then I remembered my very Catholic great Aunt had left me a steel crucifix (Beatrix, still trying to convert me up to the last moment). About thirty minutes later I emerged from the attic covered in dust and proudly bearing my inherited Christ-on-a-cross. I figured it should be at eye level, so with hammer and nail in hand I got down on my knees on a white cushion I stole from the day room, then set the crucifix on the wall such that I could easily look up from my reading and contemplate my adopted savior.
I backed away and admired my work. It looked like a little chapel.
I decided to start right away. I took my new Bible in hand and kneeled on the white pillow facing the back wall of my closet and drew the door shut behind me and clicked on the hanging light. After a few seconds of quiet relaxation I began:
“Great Spirit of the Universe. If you can hear me, could I trouble you to use this Text to send me a message? Something uplifting and inspiring that will help me be a better person, if possible.”
I closed my eyes and started flipping steadily from the back to the front of the Good Book and stopped when it felt right, then plunked my index finger down in random spot:
Flip. Point.
Acts 19:15 And the evil spirit answered and said, Jesus I know, and Paul I know; but who are ye?
HA! wow, what an epic first pick. I could hardly believe it; I started cracking up in my closet. After I composed myself I tried again.
“Hi. I’m neither Jesus nor Paul. I am Peter! I am a business-to-business salesman for Around Co. Software Security Systems. Nice to meet you! Since we’re doing introductions why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
Flip. Point.
Daniel 7:7 After this I saw in the night visions, and behold a fourth beast, dreadful and terrible, and strong exceedingly; and it had great iron teeth: it devoured and brake in pieces, and stamped the residue with the feet of it: and it was diverse from all the beasts that were before it; and it had ten horns.
This made me feel a little queasy when I read it. I contemplated getting up and going to the bathroom because I really felt my gullet rising like I was going to throw up. I knew it was just a coincidence. But it was a rather frightening one. After a few deep breaths I decided to continue.
“Alright… beast. If that’s what you really are. I am talking to you now because I did a very nasty thing to my coworker, Rachel, and I made her feel terrible and embarrassed her in front of all our coworkers. So I was hoping you could maybe guide me to a passage that could give me some idea about how I could make it up to her.
Flip. Point.
Jeremiah 50:26 Come against her from the utmost border, open her storehouses: cast her up as heaps, and destroy her utterly: let nothing of her be left
I thought I heard a booming noise in the distance. A crazed thought ran roughshod through my head, ‘Is that the sound the horizon makes?’
Was I sleeping? I snapped back to my crucifix. I was awake.
“So…” I began again, somewhat deliriously, “Rachel is really nice and she is the one who told me I should talk to you in the first place. I may not respect her intellect but surely I should find something nicer to do than ‘cast her up as heaps’, yeah? Since she’s a friend?
Flip. Point.
Job 6:27 Yea, ye overwhelm the fatherless, and ye dig a pit for your friend.
An image took over. I could almost feel the spade in my hand; the sod and gravel pierced by dull metal. I felt a beat; the beat of the dig. And I imagined a spot. A dingy wooded area, not even a proper forest. Just a horrid little gash of earth, sprinkled with a few pathetic saplings, where I could bury her for -probably- a good while before anything or anyone found her. It was behind a Save-Mart in a sad, little strip mall. Just an unremarkable place to rot.
“Should I?” I breathed. “Should I kill her for you?”
Flip. Point.
Psalm 119:103 How sweet are thy words unto my taste! yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth!
I snapped the Book shut and flung it wildly and bolted out of my closet. I’m not really sure what I did until my wife came home or even how much time passed. I was incredibly relieved when she came through the door. I could bask in the warm glow of her aggressive rationality. We enjoyed wine and dinner. I tried to forget through drink, and almost succeeded.
I slept poorly and was hungover in the morning. My wife informed me over breakfast that I tossed and turned considerably, and even spoke in my sleep. This is something I never do. I asked her what I said.
“Mmm, it was hard to understand, you were mumbling. I thought you said something about ‘all the horns’?”
I left for work earlier than usual, despite my queasiness, so she couldn’t see how upset I was. On the drive over I tried to rationalize with myself. Of course, I had nightmares about the Beast because I was so rattled by the coincidences that had occurred during my attempt at Rachel’s method. I started thinking, really what are the odds on that? Out of the number of verses in the Bible, what are the chances I would land on a set that seemed to be answering me so insidiously and directly that many times in a row? It seemed like it must be astronomically unlikely.
I was still quite unsettled as I walked into work.
Of course, Rosy-cheeked Rachel was at my desk.
“So?!” she squealed.
“It was lovely, Rachel. Really nice; I think I’ll keep it up.”
“What did you read about?” She looked fit to burst.
“I… read about how… Jesus… loves me?”
“Oh! He does, Peter, he does! He loves you forever and he’s your Good Shepherd. He’ll take you into his Fold. You just tell me if you want me to pray with you. I’ll pray with you, Peter!”
I gave her my best fake smile, and, against all odds, got straight to work. Somehow the mediocrity of the work day numbed my spirit and dulled my senses to the point that I was no longer utterly horrified. To further assuage my lingering sense of horror, upon returning home, I had two glasses of wine with a light dinner. My wife was retiring to her study until she turned in.
I felt suddenly and brazenly compelled to continue where I left off; to prove the ridiculousness of the prior day’s experience. It was not the usual mischievous puck or imp at work. The compulsion felt external and a bit menacing. I wondered if I would even know if I were possessed.
I entered my closet. The Bible was sitting neatly on the cushion. I thought I threw it the other night and assumed I would have to fish it from some odd corner of the closet. Had my wife replaced it? [‘the beast, The Beast, THE BEAST!’ chanted my brainstem, ignored] I figured that it had to be my wife, as I kneeled and drew the doors shut behind me and turned on the solitary bulb.
“Jesus Christ” I blurted, “Uh, I am trying to give you a chance to bring me the peace you seem to promise. Or I mean, I’m not trying to be accusatory or anything, but your followers say you are all about peace… and I like peace! So maybe, instead of all the murder and mayhem, you can show me something a little more relaxing?”
Flip. Point.
Luke 12:51 Suppose ye that I am come to give peace on earth? I tell you, Nay; but rather division:
I let out a long breath through pursed lips. Am I crazy? I felt crazy. I started speaking low, almost whispering.
“This is starting to freak me out.” I looked up at my crucifix. I stared into Jesus’ agonized face, “What do you want from me?”
Flip. Point.
Acts 11:7 And I heard a voice saying unto me, Arise, Peter; slay and eat.
I woke up in the morning face down in the closet. My clothes were soaked in sweat. I think I must have passed out. When I jerked my head up, I saw my crucifix was hanging upside down. I burst out of my closet, horrified. My wife was sitting calmly in our bed with coffee and a magazine. She eyed me up and down.
“You were in there all night,” she accused.
“Unh. Yeh”
“You look like shit.”
I smelled like it too.
“I’m sorry, honey, I… do me a favor and don’t ask?”
She acquiesced without protest. She’s a good woman. I showered and ate and dressed. My wife had to go to an early meeting. I watched her as she backed out of the driveway and sped away. I wanted to do the same, but I just couldn’t bring myself to leave. Some ghastly and unresolved business kept me firmly rooted.
I returned to my closet. The Bible was on the cushion. The cross was still upside down. I kneeled and shut the doors behind me.
I wasn’t sure how to open at this point. “I’m not scared of you!” I eventually bluffed. “Whatever you are, you’re unhappy and dead and stuck!
Flip. Point.
Job 15:21 A dreadful sound is in his ears: in prosperity the destroyer shall come upon him.
I became very painfully aware of a ringing in my ears. A low pitched tone, like an old broadcast station signing off. “Tinnitus?” I asked stupidly into the air.
I felt suddenly very warm and nauseated. “Is it getting hotter in here?” I slurred. I put the Bible down and wiped my forehead with my sleeve. When I looked back down at it, I realized, to my horror that the pages had flipped without my manipulation. My eyes were drawn instinctively to this passage:
Psalm 104:20 Thou makest darkness, and it is night: wherein all the beasts of the forest do creep forth.
I just stared at the verse. Unearthly imaginings raced through my mind. I was whispering something. I was rocking back and forth on my knees, clammy hands clasped together chanting something with a lot of “please” and “don’t” and “God”. I watched in horror as the pages turned by themselves. My eyes landed uncontrollably:
2 Samuel 1:7 And when he looked behind him, he saw me, and called unto me. And I answered, Here am I.
It was very quiet in my closet. I was weeping breathlessly. The light bulb dimmed, flickered, then went dark. The crucifix fell off the nail and hit the floor.
“Oh God, please save me,” I prayed.
The closet door whipped open behind me.
—
Credits to: photofreecreepypasta
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