“I have a recording of the real radio broadcast when the Hindenburg blew up. I think it’s worth money, but I’d never sell it.”
“I hear it’s going to be a cold winter.”
“My son is working for NASA now!”
It didn’t matter what they said. It just mattered that they said it, and Paul was the friendly face. He knew intuitively that he didn’t need to say anything clever or even to speak. He just had to smile, and they would ask for him when they came back. They made him feel useful and valued, something his classmates never did.
Studious Paul was always near the head of his class. He’d won awards and accolades for his volunteer work. He’d even been written up in the local newspaper several times. All this supported his belief that he was destined to do something important and meaningful with his life. Of course, back then success was easy. Up to that point he had always known the rules. If you wanted to get an A in class, the teacher told you exactly what to do. To win a local service award, there were straightforward guidelines. Paul had no nostalgia for homecoming parades, football games, or school plays, but he did miss his youthful certitude. As a professional minister, the rules would never again be as clear.
“Incompatible”
In 1880, Baptist minister George Dana Boardman wrote a treatise called Studies in the Mountain Instruction. “Ask yourself whether you are fulfilling Christ’s conditio
n of entrance (to heaven) or not,” he wrote, “loving your enemies, doing good to those who hate you, blessing those who curse you…. It matters not what or how loud your profession is; how orthodox your creed; how often and devoutly you pray; how large your benevolences; how rapturous your closet experiences: all this goes for nothing unless you feel toward those who are hating and injuring you as Christ bids you feel. No criterion of piety can take the place of this test of the Mountain. There is no way of being a son of the Father in heaven except by doing as the Father in heaven does—even this, loving enemies, doing good to foes, sending sunshine on evil and on good, sending rain on just and on unjust.”
Religion was frequently a topic of the evening phone calls. Ian had a great curiosity about the Christianity that Paul loved so much. He seemed to want to see the good in religion, but he had been burned. The church of his youth had damned him. Paul understood that Ian had abandoned religion for his own well-being. He never tried to push his faith on Ian, but he welcomed his questions and he hoped that it was something they might share one day. Perhaps God had given Paul an angelic vision in order to help Ian rediscover the divine nature of his own soul.
“Why are Christians so hung up about sex?” Ian asked one evening. “Mary was a virgin, Jesus was a virgin. Why is that so important? The world is sexual.”
“Why is it important? Hmm… I guess because it helps to promote a stable society if people aren’t so obsessed with sex. If they’re not promiscuous. I think that is where it comes from.”
“Is that what Jesus was about? Promoting stable society? I thought he was a guy who questioned the Pharisees and turned over the money-changers’ tables and all that.”
“He was. The church is about promoting a stable society. It’s important, don’t you think? Having a strong community.”
“If I’m invited to the party.”
“You are.”
“I never understood why it’s supposed to be less like animals to have sex only for procreation. I mean, isn’t that exactly what animals do? They go into heat, they have sex, make new little animals and go back about their business. That’s being like animals. Being like a human is having sex because it feels good.”
“I never thought of it that way.”
“I mean, why should you have to justify giving someone pleasure? Shouldn’t you have to justify giving someone pain? Like these people who go around bashing gays because they’re good Christians—that’s fine. That’s good. But heaven forbid you give a guy an orgasm. That’s evil.”
“Why are you always arguing with me over things other people say? I’m not the representative for everyone who calls himself a Christian.”
“I’m not arguing with you. I’m asking you why.”
“But you’re not asking me my opinion. You’re asking me why different people think what they do.”
“But in your church, aren’t people expecting that a Christian church means certain things? They’re not expecting you to get up and give a sermon praising fucking.”
“I’m not anti-sex. I like sex.”
“Me too.”
“But I do think it should be in a committed relationship. I think you should love the person or at least have intimacy. I’m not talking about religion. I just think it’s better for life. Don’t you?”
“If you can find that. I haven’t found that yet.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
“I’m not exactly a catch.”
“What are you talking about? You’re crazy.”
“Maybe.”