(I dreamed this, and so made it a story...so it's fiction, but i didn't make it up...well, my subconscious made it up...is that me, then? who knows.)
It had begun to rain earlier, but now it was coming down pretty hard and my attention was drawn to the front window where I could see the wind whipping things around on the front deck. That's when I noticed the dog. He jumped up in a plastic chair on the porch and sat there shivering, pummeled by rain and wind.
There were some small dogs in the house already, so I went to open the door and smooch him in. Another dog crowded in behind him, and then there was another dog and another and another--seven in all--stepping over the threshold, sliding, flinging water off their coats, nails clicking on the hardwood floor. A child greeted one in the hallway and they began to play, while one large Labrador paused at the front door to pee in a potted plant. I felt a little guilty, but I still thought they shouldn't be out in the thunderstorm.
I returned to the sofa, and the woman glanced over at me periodically, as she continued looping yarn. A little dog came over and jumped in my lap. I played with him and pet him and he was so happy, he curled onto my lap, rolled over onto his back and insisted I rub his tummy. I obliged. The knitting woman at the other end of the sofa told me that he was a mean dog and he didn't let anyone touch him. She seemed amazed. I just smiled and continued to rub his tummy.
"What church do you go to?"
That one question is always enough to inspire dread and irritation in me. It happens so frequently these days, I wonder if it's printed on my forehead in some invisible ink only Soul Snatchers can see. That's what I call them. Soul Snatchers. They're everywhere. I am merely quarry for their game bag. The one they are filling up to gain passage through the pearly gates. "I don't go to church."
"Why not?"
"Organized religion is not for me."
She rested her knitting needles in her lap to focus on her newest conquest. "Have you accepted Jesus as your personal savior?"
"As a matter of fact, yes, I did that a long time ago--"
"Good--" She began knitting again.
"But I changed my mind later." Why do I do this?
She stopped knitting again. "What?"
"After I studied under a bible scholar and lived the Christian life for about ten years, I decided that I didn't believe Jesus was my savior. I believed he was a great teacher, but that I couldn't trust much of what was being taught to me. The more I studied, the more lies and inconsistencies I found. It didn't ring true."
Somewhat fearfully, she said, "If you don't accept Jesus, you won't go to heaven--"
"I don't believe in heaven."
"--you might go to hell..."
"I don't believe in hell, either."
Gathering all her Christian wherewithal, she said, "Just because you don't believe in them, doesn't mean they aren't real."
"Just because you DO believe in them, doesn't mean they ARE."
A beat later, she roused her habitual mantra. "The Bible says--"
"The Bible is a book of myth and parable and fiction with a few truths thrown in for good measure. It is not a book to be relied upon, taken literally or worshiped."
"You have no faith--"
"I have faith aplenty. Just no BLIND faith." She made some flustered noise, and I asked her name.
"Clara--"
Clara the Crocheting Couch Christian. "Clara, do you believe that God created you?"
"Of course."
"Well then, why would God create you with the ability to think and reason and question and learn and evolve, if he intended you only to sit in a pew and be told what to believe?"
"You are--I am--" she stuttered.
"That's right. You are. I am. Embrace yourself first, and then you will know God."
Finally, she blurted, "How can you deny Jesus is the savior?!"
"Because there is no savior. Really. You are your own savior. Jesus was a teacher. An evolved being. A human, just like you. The Savior is inside you. And so is the Devil."
Her mouth was hanging open when the host of the gathering came into the living room, hauling dogs by their collars, their nails sliding across the wood floor. "Who let the dogs in?"
I thought of that popular tune of almost the same name and had to force myself not to break into song.
"Who let the damn dogs in!?" he screeched.
Clara the Crocheting Couch Christian pointed at me. "She did."
I turned to her. "Judas."
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