Nothing But the Blood

by ~charrlie

~Year 2012~

It was evening near the Chapel in the Wood, and the grass was shiny and wet at the site of the Battle of Morning Sun.

The church, with its white steeple and antique bell tower, was revitalized.  A missionary coalition seemed to have drawn everyone back, even me, and we were having a good, old-fashioned revival to celebrate.

The old parsonage across the long lawn was long since bought out by a funeral home.  A will was being read there that night, and some school buddies of mine were in attendance.  They were more interested in hooking up with locals than in collecting an inheritance.  This intrigued me.  I slipped out of the revival to go spy on what I hoped would be my acquaintances getting down and dirty.  I was not disappointed.  The dichotomy in my presence at these events is apparent, but, sadly, such was me.

While observing, I was seized by a fit of conscience, and returned to the church.  As I walked into the carpeted sanctuary, a missionary pastor was speaking at the altar.

"Some of you will go to the rainforest.  If you desire to be blessed and commissioned as emissaries of God's Holy Church, please stand," he said, looking directly at me.  Rainforest was all I needed to hear.  I walked forward, a lost sheep, headed for the old familiar altar...

~Year 2022~

My husband and I speak in hushed tones.  Firelight illuminate his tanned face as he talks.  Our two children, 6 and 8, titter in the next room.  My affection for them barely registers, as does their giggles.  My mind is on other things.  The entire compound, built right outside the rainforest, is astir about a message one of our prophets received during a Spirit service.  The prophecy concerns a pagan holy place at the outskirts of the jungle, about an 8 mile walk from the mission.  There is a clear stream and pool where shamans used to go to communicate with the spirit world.

The prophecy, given by a seasoned, blessed woman in her 30's, entails that whoever drowns his or her self in that pool shall be resurrected for the witness of Jesus.  Everyone was shocked at her words, which brought an abrupt end to the service.

Naturally, being men of little faith, we tell our prophetess she must have been influenced by a local spirit trying to claim souls.  There aren't any local legends about drownings amongst the pygmy natives, but it could happen.  The whole church is deeply upset by the event.  The prophetess is a prized member of the community, and everyone falls to gossiping in their homes.

I wonder if our whole project is at stake.  The natives are not responding to our message.  I am suffering from feelings of disillusionment.  

I kiss my husband goodnight, and go to bed.

~Two months later~

I am walking on a moonlit night.  My marriage isn't on the rocks, but I know it is a marriage of convenience and comfort, a loveless affair empty of passion.  Have I wasted ten years?  I'm not satisfied by anything, and sleeping on my problems has only made them worse.  I feel isolated.  I feel ugly on the inside.  I feel like my husband and children don't need or understand me.

Haunted by the blacklisted prophecy, I find myself drawn to the pool it mentions.  I sit on a large rock, gazing into the cool water.  So cool, so clear.  I am reminded that the natives think this place is holy.

After a while, I sing.  I sing without word, and close my eyes, daring the darkness to come and get me.  The danger of being alone in a jungle fades from my mind.  Sweat slowly dries against my skin in the oddly cool air.

I do not know how much time passes.  I begin to perceive heat beside me, and red light seeks openings in my eyelids.  A tingle races up my spine, and I fall silent.  A feeling of fear shoots from my groin to my heart, and then jangles alarms in my brain.  A sudden awareness of power and danger makes me dizzy.

"Hello, Anna."  A deep, pleasant voice reverberates through me.  It is unfamiliar.  I open my eyes, and see visions of fire and lava beneath the water.  The cool moonlight mingles with the firelight.  I see what could only be The Devil, sitting beside me.  His bare feet dangle above the water's surface.  

He is red-skinned, and big-boned.  His jaw is thick and square, matching strong features.  I don't see much of his eyes.  He is dressed in simple dark pants, and a plaid, short-sleeved shirt.  I expect to feel repulsed, or to encounter overpowering waves of an evil presence.  I feel none of these.  I feel fascination, desire.

"You could come with me," he says, not taking his eyes from the pool.

"I know," I reply, finding myself moving closer.  He is masculine, and feminine, and powerful.

"Think of places you could go.  Think of power.  Think of pleasure."  At his words, longings and images fill me.  Misgivings about the path I have taken darken my mind, which is clouded by lust.

Waves of the loneliness I have felt pass over me.  I lean my head on his warm, inviting shoulder.  I reach high to drape an arm around him.  He has an aroma of stones, sand, and warmth.

"I know it isn't right," I mumble.

"Do you always do what is right, Anna?" he asks, glancing at me and giving me a squeeze that pulls me closer.

"No," I say, and my lips brush his arm.  His skin is smooth.  I want his dark eyes to examine me, to penetrate me again.  Eyes like the night sky.  Hungry like the void.

"You could do things for me, and I could do things for you," he promises.

"I could find satisfaction..." he nods, "...And perversion," the words catch comfortably in my throat.  We are silent for a moment, as I wish things that shouldn't be wished.  I run my mouth along the leather trim of his shirt, and search his back with my fingers for any indication of wings.  I find none, which bothers me as I teeter on the edge of what is probably oblivion.

"You are so warm," I say, hugging close.

"You would lose your place in the light, but you could have more when I rise," he tells me.  I look at the pool, remembering the prophecy.  What are promises and prophecies from fallen angels?

A certainty, a calling, settles in my heart.  It tugs at me, pulling me apart with gentle fingers.  I sigh.

"We both have to do...what we have to do," I tell him.  We both understand.  Something in me has won out over the longing and desire that fills my mind and flesh, the passion, darkness, and desperation sparked by his tempting.

I rise, turn away, and begin walking.  I feel myself growing stronger with each step, though I feel I've left part of myself behind.  He vanishes with a gust that leaves me cold and calm.  I do know what I must do.

Like Jesus in the garden, I kneel in the moonlight and pray to the Father.  I ask for mercy and wisdom.  I commend my soul, and the peace and certainty within me grow.  I stand, turn, and run to the pool that is pure once more.

I leap over the edge, plunging face first into the cool water.  I feel only very fleeting panic as I gulp in huge lungfuls of air.  There is little pain.  My faith drives me, rests with me, as my brain fizzles, my senses fail, and my vision goes dark.  My consciousness remains, and I feel a little concern.  I rest in the darkness, worrying that it didn't work...that I am alive, or that the prophecy and my faith are wrong.  This transpires in mere seconds, not gradually and logically.  The whole transition from life to death is instantaneous, but the calm deep within my being remains.  It is my soul.

~Three weeks later~

I have seen the everlasting light, and all of life is new to me.  I am filled with love and joy in a way that I have never been before.  My children's faces, their laughter, fill me with glee.  My husband and I walk arm in arm.  People keep staring at me like I'm crazy, or like I'm a circus exhibit.

It isn't just because I claim to have been raised from the dead by God, Himself.  My body is transformed.  I am smaller, and my hair is long.  In fact, I look more like the pygmies.  But they know me, still.  Now, everyone can see that something amazing has transpired, because my body has been transformed as proof.

No one talks about drawing me out of the water, only to see me return to the land of the living.  I think the idea of it is too much for intellectual comprehension.  I tell my brothers and sisters in Christ that they must rely upon their souls to understand.

The sister who was outcast for her prophecy is now redeemed.  We are all boarding a plane, bound for the States.  We are going to visit Morning Sun United Church, to give witness and testimony to anyone who will listen.  And then, we will go back to our mission, and anyone who wishes may plunge themselves into the water.

I think that having a revival to celebrate might be frighteningly apropos.  Except that nothing is frightening anymore.  All I see are joy and light.  I am a conduit of the living word.  I have found the peace and righteousness that seemed unattainable.

"What can wash away my sin?  Nothing but the blood of Jesus!" wafts through the air within the small passenger plane.  It is the chiming voice of my young daughter.  I smile, silently praising the Lord with my spirit.