Danny Tells

“I’m no longer the priest at Saint Egbert’s.”
“Oh?”
“When did this happen?”
“Monday.”
“You quit, or the Bishop fire you?”
“I guess he fired me. He felt some sort of a compulsion that the priest at Saint Egbert’s should be an Episcopalian.”
“What do you mean? You are an Episcopalian.”
“Nope, I quit being an Episcopalian last Sunday.”
“Really? What happened last Sunday?”
“I heard a sermon.”
“A sermon? What kind of a sermon?” asked Davy obviously shocked.
“A good sermon, a good Baptist sermon. Preacher man was talking about Jesus as a child in the temple.”
“Do tell,” smiled Davy. He had delivered the sermon Danny was referring to the previous Sunday at Camp Eden.
“Yes. The preacher man was talking about this twelve year old kid carrying on a conversation with the Rabbis. This kid who seemed to know things and we don’t even know if he could read or write, yet he was sharing with the most learned men in the temple and they with him.”
“Okay.”
“And, for some reason I began thinking.”
“Thinking?”
“Yes, the kid was talking about worshiping God, but today people don’t worship God, they worship denominations.”
“Okay, you’ve lost me.”
“Way back when, when you and I were Catholic, what did we worship?”
“I assume God.”
“No, think about it. Who did we pray to? We prayed to the saints. Everything was saints. And, what are saints? They’re people that the Catholic church say are special. Saints are the property of the Catholic church. They are denominational. And, we prayed to Mary. How many Protestants do you know who pray to Mary? Again, denominational.”
“The Pentecostals see a few things in the Bible about tongues and suddenly, they speak in unknown tongues. You ever hear of anyone else speaking in unknown tongues? Yet, for those Pentecostals, holy is measured by tongues. If you can speak in tongues, you’re holy. If you can’t, you’re not. Again, denominational.”
 “And I hate to say it, but you Baptists, your being saved stuff. I know some of you believe it stronger than others. Some Baptists never mention the word ‘saved’. Some can’t complete a thought without saying the word, but where did that come from?”
“You’re right,” said Davy. “Mostly Paul.”
“Right, Paul, a man who never even met Jesus. I know all about the Damascus road thing, but still. Paul never met Jesus. Yet, he created a whole way of thinking. You mention being saved to most people and they look at you like you’ve lost your mind.”
Davy smiled, but said nothing.
“Like I say, we worship denominations, not the one who made it all. Denominations are man-made cubby holes. To say that one denomination loves God or knows God better than another is absurd. Good is good. Love is love. It doesn’t matter if a person is a pope or a Ubangi warrior. Damn Catholics pull Saint Peter from the bible and make a pope. Pentecostals pull speaking in tongues from the bible and and think to be a good Pentecostal you got to speak in tongues. Some of you Baptists pull that being saved crap from the Bible and suddenly everybody has got to be saved or they’re on an express train to hell. All of that is denominational stuff. Have you ever heard of a good, saved Catholic who speaks in tongues?”
Davy was quiet for a moment then asked, “How did you quit being an Episcopalian?”
“I don’t know the proper way, but I believe, in my heart, I quit being an Episcopalian a long time ago. There is just something clean and pure about being whatever it is we are now. In reality, I believe I quit when I told the bishop of my decision.”
Davy paused for a moment then said, “What are we now? You said, whatever it is we are now. What are we now?”
Danny looked at Davy but did not answer. He had no answer.
Later that night, Davy saw Danny walk past his cabin. He knew Danny had been deep in thought lately and often took late night walks. Tonight, he decided to invite himself along. He ran out his front door and soon caught up with Danny. “Mind if I come along?” he asked.
“No, I would probably enjoy the company.”
It wasn’t long before they had left Camp Eden and were walking along a dirt road surrounded by wheat fields. The sky was bright with millions of stars, stars beyond the possibility of being counted. “What have we done, Davy?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s Friday night, two days from now, a little chapel in the middle of a labor camp will fill beyond capacity with people. There will be people standing outside barely able to hear what is being said, but still, they want to be there. Uptown, Billy-Bob and Bubba will have a church that will soon be packed every Sunday. In a few weeks, Dominick and Gorge will have the same. What I’m asking you, Davy, is what have we done? There are hundreds of people flocking to churches we have created. Soon, there will be thousands. What have we done? Did it all start when I threatened some snot nose kid thirty years ago? Back then we wanted two things, we wanted to help people and we wanted to be priests. That’s all we wanted, Davy.”
“What have we done? I can’t answer that. Maybe we tried something that should have been tried a long time ago. When you stood up and gave that beautiful, that very beautiful, talk on the Last Supper so many months ago, things changed.”
“Let’s not forget, you gave that Baptist as hell sermon. It was beautiful.”