Go to Next Chapter -- Return to Contents /Index
Chapter Seven
Dialogue With The Devil
Adam picked up the remote control, walked over to
the television, and aimed it at the set.
For a brief moment, after punching the button, he watched an eerie,
unnatural light grow in the tube. The
glow spread north, south, east, and west, forming a cruciform on the
screen. As the picture developed,
however, and he began changing the channels, the typical daytime programming
appeared. Sitcom reruns, soap operas,
news events, and commercials flashed before his eyes.
There was, he had discovered,
something comforting about the television.
Every now and then it would beam into his living room reassuring him
that everything was all right. It was,
at such times, his window to normalcy, his only link to the outside world. This evening it was a reminder in this
shadowy hole that, in spite of everything he had endured, the world still
waited outside his door. He was not
alone. Life went on very will without
Cora Leeds. Too often, he had found,
the house seemed to be an island unto itself, a little pocket of misery
marooned in time and space—his own private corner of hell.
Over an assortment of daytime
programming, he gazed lazily, his mind in idle mode and emotions on hold,
until, almost arbitrarily, he paused at a likely scene. A lackluster maroon stage curtain filled the
television screen. Without credits to
announce the show, the curtain rose silently without fanfare to expose an
uncluttered wooden stage. From stage
right, a man emerged from the shadows, a tattered Bible clutched in his hand. He was not an impressive figure at first
glance but rather old, doddering, and bald.
Behind him, as the radius of the light widened, a classroom sized grease
board seemed to be suspended in mid-air, until the light fell on a large
tripod-like framework in back, the sort of learning aid expected in a lecture
hall. At first his voice was a low
rumble as a salutation escaped his craggy lips: “Greetings my Children. Thanks for inviting me into your home.”
“You’re welcome,” Adam presented a
tired smile.
After turning up the volume, he listened with
mounting curiosity, as the man began, in a paternal tone, to preach:
“Children, look to the signs, not
the conventions of men. The devil has
arrived on planet Earth. Don’t be
fooled by those who claim holiness in the name of God, for in this age Satan,
as counselor, has been let loose and will have exceeding power. In the coming days, look for two men as
heralds of this age: the End Times.
When you hear the prophets’ call, it will be a warning to the unsaved
but a signal to the faithful that the countdown has begun.”
******
For a brief spell, Adam felt drawn to the
preacher. Though he had never seen him
on the religious channels before, there was something about the old man that
other televangelist lacked. Judging by
his modest graphics and humble demeanor, he seemed out of place on
television. This was the sort of
production he expected to see at PTA meetings or in high school gyms. There was, however, a presence about him
that had caught Adam’s attention immediately.
He was, in addition to being bald-headed, severely wrinkled in his black
threadbare suit, and yet there was a commanding radiance about him that belied
his great age. The thought came to Adam
that there on that simple stage was a patriarch of the church—a true champion
of the faith. As he raised his gravelly
voice to wring out what seemed his last ounce of energy, his dark eyes blazed
with illumination and energy as he spoke:
“Children, be patient. Keep you ear to the wind and your eye to the sky. Hearken to the sounds of distant drumming
and the thunder of the Lord’s wrath. Do
not believe the ecumenicists of our age who say ‘good times are ahead,’ for in
those days an unholy peace will lead to unrighteous wars. Be faithful! Be vigilant! Watch for
the signs.
“Beginning
with the nation of Israel, the catalyst for Middle East conflict, the march of
events appeared to point to Armageddon, until world conflict, political
upheaval and social chaos subsided once more into the status quo. The Iron Curtain, which also pointed to
Armageddon, collapsed as surely as totalitarianism at the end of World War
II. With the War on Terrorism following
the attack on the Twin Towers, however, the Apocalypse was given new life. Armageddon is once more in sight. But pay no head to forecasts. The devil has its own game!”
******
From this point, Adam’s patience with the sermon
began to wane. Though there were a few
novel twists, the sermon was uncomfortably familiar to his doctrinally liberal
mind. Certain apocalyptic catchwords he
recalled televangelists spouting on such channels as the Trinity Broadcasting
network, had once again been cited as important milestones to look for in the
End Time chronology: the Two Witnesses, who would prophesize during the new
age, the False Prophet, who would promote a one world church, and the
Antichrist and his government, who would require everyone, who wanted to profit
in the new order, to wear the Mark of the Beast.
Adam was most troubled, however, by his statement
that the devil had its own game. Did
this mean that Satan could change the End Times script? And why did the preacher refer to the Devil
as it and not he? These
irregularities troubled him as much as the theme and the old preacher’s probing
stare.
Turning finally to the grease board on the
stage, the old preacher drew a simple timeline for the last days that resembled
other eschatological charts, except for the Rapture that fell at the end of the
Tribulation instead of at the beginning as most televangelists insisted it was.
The Church
Age Seven Year Tribulation The Rapture The Millennium
2000 + Years Satan’s False Peace Wrath of Satan At the end
of 1,000 Year Reign 3
½ years 3 ½
years Tribulation, of Christ on Earth before Final Battle
After this understated use of the grease board, the
old preacher looked out from his modest stage, as if he was looking directly at
the Reverend Adam Leeds. He moved
forward on the stage until it appeared as if his nose was touching the inside
of the screen.
“I know you’re out there Satan,” he said, looking
right into the living room. “I saw you rise up as a vapor from hell. You crafty fellow—such a subtle debut! I see you in the darkness now, up to your
old tricks!”
Startled by this familiarity, Adam jumped straight
up from his chair, his eyes glancing wildly around the room. “I don’t believe it,” he gasped, looking
back at the screen, “it’s not true. The
Lord, not the devil, dwells in this house!”
Satan was drawn to the television as the
preacher’s face loomed ethereally inside the set. Hovering invisibly in front of the screen, it called out shrilly
“Stop it! You’re frightening him. Your battle is with me!”
“Satan, Lucifer, Beelzebub—always a new plot, but I
know your game. You might play by a
different script, but you can’t escape prophecy. These events will happen, whether you like it or not!”
Unheard by Adam’s mortal ears was a stream of
blasphemies against God. The old
preacher seemed to look right into the living room, focusing upon something
Adam could not see.
“You just don’t get it,” scolded the preacher. “You
never have--not in Heaven, not in Hell, not even on Earth! The outcome of history is predestined. Those milestones I listed on the board are
the basic outcome of a sinful world; they can’t be altered or reversed. The future is sealed.
“You think by landing in Los
Angeles, you’ve changed the outcome.
But you can’t change the outcome, no matter how hard you try. For the prophets Daniel and John, the
Revelator, who wrote in symbolism, the one-world government lies in the
boundaries of Ancient Rome, but nowhere in scriptures is this area alluded to,
except in the vaguest symbolic form.
Forget those cryptic symbols such as the Four Horseman of the
Apocalypse, the Scarlet Woman, and the Seven Vials. The fact is you need religious and government leaders for what
you have in mind. It doesn’t matter
what you call them. It doesn’t matter
what labels you use: antichrist, false prophet, one world government, harlot church. These elements you will need to create
mischief in the world. Los Angeles
might, in deed, become the New Rome!”
The devil hissed angrily at the screen. In fascinated horror, standing transfixed in
front of the set, Adam had listened to this one sided conversation, wondering
if the old preacher had suddenly lost his wits. He appeared to be arguing with himself about a different version
of the apocalypse, one much worse than the first. In spite of the preacher’s bluster, in this revised vision of the
End Times Satan appeared to have enhanced power, since he would, in fact, be
defying Holy Writ. “God forbid,”
mumbled Adam, biting his fist.
After uttering the unheard plea “Adam, change the
channel. Don’t listen to those
lies. He’s got it all wrong!” Satan
flew irately around the room.
As if in response, Adam did, in fact, change the
channel, exorcizing God from his set.
Though he punched the controller several times to rid himself of the
preacher, the one-sided dialogue between the preacher and the devil had rattled
his wits. He also could not shake the
feeling that, despite this diversion, the preacher had intended this monologue
for him. A few moments ago the man had
seemed paternal, even patriarchal, but now Adam wasn’t sure what he
believed. Was this living room chat an
attention-grabber for his amateurish production? Why was he pretending to talk to the devil, as if he was in this
very room?
A cereal commercial, talk show host, and a soap
opera flashed before his eyes, as he punched the controller, until he paused at
a cable news channel and sat there intrigued with a news report:
“According to our correspondent in the Vatican, the
new Pope and several religious leaders from other faiths have reached an
historic agreement to work together for the spread of the Gospel. . .”
After listening to this report, Adam realized,
with inexplicable alarm, that such an agreement would lead logically, as the
old preacher predicted, to a one world or universal church. Adam had always thought that ecumenicalism
was a good idea. It would, he believed,
help heal socio-political boundaries and encourage world peace. For some reason, however, after listening to
the old preacher, it seemed wrong. He
made a mental note to discuss this with the elders tomorrow. Some members of the church favored an
outreach program to other sects and faiths, which, if nothing else, might taint
Adam’s hope for an enlightened congregation by mixing with conservative Roman
Catholicism and Protestant fundamentalist ideologues.
After listening to the reporter list Cardinal
Zwickau among the many prelates attending the meeting in Los Angeles as members
of the ecumenical counsel of churches, Adam shuddered involuntarily as a
familiar breeze blew into his face. As
a liberal theologian, he made no connection between this meeting, the
correspondent in the Vatican, and the Apocalyptic timeline given by the
preacher, and yet the notion of being corrupted by conservative Christianity or
Orthodox Judaism bothered him very much.
“Just turn it off. Don’t listen to that rubbish!” Satan’s counsel remained unheard.
Marveling at this timely newscast, Adam once
again appeared to oblige the Tempter by punching the controller several times
to distance himself from religious sermons and news. Bypassing any channel that had a “talking head,” ongoing news, or
even talk show hosts, he listened to a soap opera awhile to blot out a notion
growing in his mind.
“Oh Frank,” a blond-headed actress exclaimed,
against the backdrop of a living room much like his own, “you’re back to your
old ways. Please tell me this is a lie.
. .”
In the foreground he saw and heard typical
daytime drama: a husband confessing his infidelities to his wife. But in the background of this cozy setting
Adam could see the couple’s television, and on the set the mute face of the old
preacher, on the same stage apparently giving the same sermon he had been
giving this hour.
“That’s impossible,” he cried, rising
excitedly to his feet, “these programs are taped. They’re not live.” “. . . unless,” he snapped his fingers, “this
is a different sermon.” “That would
explain it,” he uttered a self-deriding laugh. “He’s probably delivering a
different sermon this time. The crazy
old fool!”
Adam turned the volume up in an effort to capture the
voice of the preacher on the set. But
all he managed to do was fill the house with blaring voices (“It’s true,
Muriel, I slept with Sue Ann, but it’s over.
It happened last summer in New York. . .”)
“This is ridiculous!” raged the Tempter,
soaring angrily around the room. “Turn it off, Adam. Clear your head of this rubbish.
Smash that black box to smithereens!”
In a rote-like motion now, as if he was once
again obeying the Tempter’s command, he punched the controller. This time, however, he experimentally aimed
it at the set and moved back to where he thought the old preacher had
been. Sure enough, he discovered with a
shudder, the old man was still pressed up against the screen, muttering
“Repent, before it’s too late!”
“What’s the matter with you?” shrieked the
devil. “Why can’t you leave well enough alone?”
After punching the controller until he
arrived back at cable news, he discovered that the subject had changed to the
current problems in the Middle East.
For a moment, the devil wondered if he had made a breakthrough. Each time that it had flown into a rage, the
reverend responded by changing the channel.
Sometimes it even seemed as if it registered on his face. This time, moreover, there was no religious
overtones to the sound and picture. It
appeared as if God had at last given up on Satan. . . and Adam Leeds.
“That’s more like it,” it said, settling
close by.
Adam likewise settled back in his chair and
listened to the news anchor move from one subject to another, from deeply
troubling issues to inane Hollywood fluff.
As he channel surfed, commercials, soap operas, movies, set-com re-rums,
home improvement shows, and a commentator interviewing a celebrity paraded
before his eyes. On Trinity Network,
however, where he had discovered the old preacher, there was a younger minister
discussing missionary activity in Africa.
The old preacher had seemed to vanish as a genie into the set.
“What are you doing now?” groaned
Satan.
“Poof!” Adam murmured in disbelief. “. . . . Where
did he go?” “. . . Good riddance!” he mumbled uncertainly under his breath.
“That’s right, good riddance,” Satan sighed wearily
to itself. “Now lift up the controller
. .
. . That’s right, turn it off!”
The screen went dark. The room fell silent. In his current state of mind, any
inspiration from the Lord had been welcome.
He needed all the encouragement he could get. But the last fifteen minutes of television had shaken his basic
beliefs. It was quite possible, he
reasoned, that the news bulletin was mere coincidence, but the old preacher had
kept popping up like a jack-in-the-box on the set.
Sinking down further into his chair, he
reflected more deeply upon what he believed.
His liberal, feel-good theology, saw an increasingly enlightened world,
in which men and women had a personal but philosophical relationship with
God. Recently, he had latched onto
Norman Vincent Peale’s positive thinking philosophy, which had got him into
trouble with the elders but had re-energized his faith. There simply was no room in his perspective
for the Apocalypse and the old preacher’s scenario for the End Times.
At the core of his religion, was his liberal
Protestant belief that the Book of Revelations written by Saint John, the
Devine, from which most of the Apocalypse was based, was intended only for
church members who had gone astray. In
short, it was, in Adam’s mind, a glorified religious polemic against the
heretics and backsliders of John’s day.
He had been forced to read and analyze it as a seminary student, but he
had avoided it ever since.
The old preacher’s sermon, though slightly
altered, was a familiar theme for televangelists which had gained momentum
recently when terrorism and political upheavals swept over the globe. Adam had tried to reinforce his congregation
with positive images, but it was difficult after the 9-11 attack on the Twin
Towers and the war following in Iraq.
The basic premise of doomsday criers had not changed: repent, because
the end of the world was near. The
countdown until doomsday and the prophetic events leading up to Armageddon
still constituted the Christian Apocalypse.
An entire division of theology (eschatology) was devoted to doomsday
forecasting based upon prophesy from Revelations and other apocalyptic
books. But the warnings were illogical
and monotonously familiar to Adam. More
importantly to him, they gave a negative interpretation of the Bible and
distorted Christ’s words.
“How many times,” he recently
preached from the pulpit, “have there been signs and portents heralding the
last days, which were even worse than those cited in our age? Evangelists predict that dark days are
coming in which an Antichrist will rule a godless world. But Nero had been an Antichrist. So had Attila the Hun and Genghis Khan. Hitler and Stalin had been Antichrists in
periods of great tribulation. And yet
none of these monsters survived.”
“Everyone from the lowest proletarian up to the worst demagogue dies and
faces judgment!” He had cried out to his congregation. And that is what counts, he thought
in his current sanctimonious frame of mind: good versus evil and the
avoidance of damnation—the direction Cora is going if she doesn’t behave.
******
Despite the flaws he saw in the old
preacher’s sermon, Adam felt uneasy about the preacher, himself, especially
after seeing him on a daytime soap. And
why had he vanished so completely from the Trinity Network? This disappearance, he had noted, had been
on the quarter-hour, which was unusual for television programming. It was as if he had appeared for just his
benefit. If so, why? To a dyed-in-the-wool liberal theologian,
what was the point? And why had he
appeared on this channel at this particular time and then again in a soap opera
prop? Was the sermon, as the breeze,
part of God’s plan to redirect his life?
If so, why didn’t God speak plainly to him? Why would He attempt to communicate through an octogenarian using
a subject he believed was in error? And
what about that troublesome breeze in his home and that arctic gale blowing
through the church? Was the old
preacher, the draft, and his strange dreams mere proof that, after this long
nightmare with Cora, he was finally losing his mind? . . . Why did it seem that
the old preacher had been talking directly to him?
“Lord, is this what you want?” he broke into prayer.
“To change the content of my sermons?
To re-direct my misspent life? I
can change; I really can. But you’ll
have to help me. I can’t do this
alone.”
“Stop this!” Satan tried breaking through again.
“Stop this at once! Look at your
ridiculous marriage and your dead-end career.
Tell me one good thing He’s done for you in your life!”
“. . . Give me a chance Lord,” his
voice rose a notch. “I’ve seen those televangelists operate. I can preach hell-fire damnation like
them. I can make doomsday predictions
and draw those silly timelines too. I
can pound the Bible ragged with my fist.” “Please Lord,” he begged, tears
gathering in his eyes, “just one more sign, but speak plainly. It must make sense. No more strange dreams or nightmares. No more arctic drafts or old men talking
about rubbish on TV.”
“Adam,” Satan whispered into his ear, “enough with
the signs. What am I chopped
liver? Forget that old fool. I had nothing to with your silly dreams, but
neither did He. You have freewill, as
do I. You’re the captain of your fate. It was I who blew through your house and
your church, when all the time you thought it was Him. The fact is you don’t need Him anymore. His religion is stifling your career,
leading you nowhere.”
“Hear my plea Lord,” Adam closed his eyes tightly,
“guide me plainly and unambiguously.”
“Adam,” it grew irritated, “I’m your source of
inspiration now, not Him. Your whole
philosophy of life has been drifting toward me, a ship without a rudder, for
years. It was just a matter of
time. There are great things in store
for you, if you but open your mind.
Stop praying to that old fool.
I—not the Him—am knocking at the door; I’ve been knocking for a long
time. Can you hear me Adam? It’s the door to you heart and soul.”
Adam jumped suddenly to his feet, his prayer growing
louder and louder as if he was trying to drown Satan out: “Lord Jesus
Christ—master of heaven and earth. If
this be from you Lord, give me one more sign.
If not, Satan bother me no more!”
“You want a sign?” Satan cried shrilly, “I’ll give
you a sign!”
Angrily, as Adam continued his prayer, Satan blew as
a gale through the room. This time, at
room temperature, it stirred the living room curtains and rustled the
newspapers on the coffee table to alert him of its presence in the house. Rising above Adam, it plunged down like a
dive bomber and whirled continually for several seconds around his face, so
that he had to shut his eyes.
“The breeze again,” he acknowledged with
disappointment, “that’s not what I had in mind.” “Are you the Holy Ghost? . . .
Are you the devil?” He asked, as if expecting a reply.
Soon the mini-tornado subsided, and he could open
his eyes. When nothing further
happened, he sank back into his chair filled with misgivings. “Perhaps it’s true,” he whispered to himself.
“I’m going mad!”
Tempted to appear as it had to Cora (a devilish
archfiend), the Tempter smoldered awhile in an invisible state, flashing unseen
in back of Adam as a jack-o-lantern a moment, then subsiding back to an ambient
breeze.
Not knowing he had shunned God, Adam sat there
feeling the breeze blow steadily a moment, then subside to the faintest of
drafts. Satan studied the reverend’s
mood, wondering how he could be so dense.
He had just seen the face of God, and yet, because of his stubbornness,
failed to recognize Him in disguise.
When it first entered the Leeds household and saw Him on the screen,
Satan knew immediately who He was.
While praying to this same God, Adam spoke despairingly of the rubbish
he heard on TV—rubbish from the mouth of the Lord! Surely, after this rebuke to God, his prayer would fall on deaf
ears!
Adam’s expression, Satan noted, was one of fear and
anxiety, more than regret. Rather than
being haunted by the past—dreadful though it was, he was plagued by thoughts of
the future: the ordeal with Cora that worsened each day. More clearly now, in spite of his
misgivings, Adam sensed what was beginning and that it was beginning here in
this house. He would never have guessed
that he was a part of Satan, not God’s plan.
But even now, with his immediate concerns, he was aware of a change in
himself if not the world. Satan could
sense this awareness in his eyes.
There
was, Adam was certain now, something peculiar about his house he had never
noticed before. It was not just the dim
light or dreariness he felt. It was not
merely the stench in the air that no cleanser or air purifier could
remove. The home he had tried to save
was now dying and was in the last throes of death. There was added to his house a sinister aspect he had only sensed
before, something that went beyond the reality and horror of a shrewish,
alcoholic wife. Whether mentally,
physically or spiritually present, Satan was afoot in this house. He had gained entry finally through Cora and
was growing stronger by the hour.