By Detlef Wieck
The walk back to the rectory seemed to go in slow motion. His shoes were little protection to his fee. The holes in the soles admitted enough water that it squished between his toes as he walked. The evening had been a bitter one with the loss of one of the wealthiest members of his congregation, not that he ever dropped enough in the offering plate.
Parson John had arrived as the old man was drawing his last few rattling breaths. John wasn’t sure that the old man even heard the last rites as he spoke them and drew the sign of the cross on his forehead. As soon as the words were spoken and the anointment completed the old man’s stern wife, hurriedly and without ceremony, had escorted him to the door, then slammed and bolted it behind him.
He turned up his collar, buttoned the top button, pulled his black hat hard down over his head to keep the wind from carrying it off. Hunched over against all of the elements, he hurried, shoulders hunched, hands in pockets, out through the gate. He vowed to even the score at the funeral for how the old man’s wife had treated him.
His way back to the rectory led past a tavern, one that he had passed many times, shuddering at the sinful sounds of music and jollity that emanated through its door. Tonight, however, soaked to the skin, in desperate need of warmth and rest, with one hand under his coat grasping the vial of holy water that he kept on a string around his neck next to his crucifix, he turned in at the door.
The sounds of violins playing a lively tune and the jovial uproar died as the inhabitants looked up to see him inside a place he was known to sermonize about as a gate to Hell. Several of his congregation were there with a pint or a glass in front of them. They appeared to be as surprised to see him as he was them. All but one of the tavern’s inhabitants turned away in discomfort.
That one, a powerfully handsome, well-dressed stranger, was sitting alone at a table near the fireplace. The man smiled and gestured for him to come and sit at his table with his back to the fire.
“May I buy you a brandy to warm you,” he asked.
“No,” Parson John retorted, “I do not partake of demon spirits, thank you!”
“You do drink sacramental wine, do you not?”
“What of it?” Parson John retorted.
“Well, as you know, brandy is made from wine.” The stranger emphasized the word “is”. Parson John raised an eyebrow as he regarded the stranger sitting across from him before he responded: “That’s different, it’s been blessed,” he said.
“As far as I can tell, the results are materially the same,” replied the stranger good naturedly. “You buy far more wine than the needs of your congregation, spend lonely evenings sipping wine and reading your Bible until your eyes are seeing double, then fall into bed singing hymns as lustily as any man in a tavern might sing a bawdy ballad before he passes out.”
Parson John pushed back from the table and jumped to his feet, tipping his chair over backwards. This unexpected noise turned every eye in the pub on him.
“How is it that you know so much about my habits?” he demanded.
“Let’s just say that I keep an eye on those who may need my help,” the stranger replied, leaning back in his chair and tilting his head back to allow him to meet Parson John’s scowl. “You pride yourself in your righteousness, and pass judgment on others who live fuller, happier lives because they take joy in their daily lives and you, you do everything to avoid happiness. You’re afraid that God will condemn happiness as the work of the Devil. Sit down, John, let me introduce myself.” Parson John reluctantly righted his chair and reseated himself, but on its edge.
“Well then, who are you, since I don’t recall introducing myself to you, much less confiding in you at any time, unless I’m losing my wits!”
“My given name is Lucifer,” the stranger replied, “Archangel Lucifer. You may call me Lue.”
Again, Parson John leapt to his feet, tipping his chair, with a crash into the fireplace.
“You’re the Devil!” he hissed. “You’re trying to lure me off of the path of righteousness!” He snatched out the cross that he had been holding and thrust it in front of Lucifer’s face.
“Steady, there John, don’t get so dramatic,” Lucifer sighed. “You’d better pull your chair out of the fire before it burns.”
“God hates you and I hate you.” John hissed, ignoring what Lucifer had said. “I’ve fought you all of my life. You’re always tempting me. Why, just this morning, you tempted me with that widow woman who smiled at me as we passed by each other. I had to turn away and cross myself to fight the evil urges that came over me.”
“Ah, you miss so much of life,” Lue replied as he stood up, reached into the fireplace and pulled out Parson John’s chair, the back of which was starting to smoke. “Let’s go for a walk. You’ve got yourself warmed up now and I see the proprietor is looking at us with a very cross expression.” Lucifer emphasized the word “cross”. “Go ahead, keep that Crucifix aimed at me if it makes you feel safer. I am not the devil you’ve been fighting all your life; you are. One part of you desires what is natural and healthy, another part of you believes that all of these natural desires are evil and that you must repress them in order to enter the kingdom of Heaven. As for your real sins, you and only you are responsible for them.”
For John, this was too close to the truth for comfort. He had been telling himself that it was the Devil that was tempting him rather than recognizing that all joys and comforts go naturally hand in hand with all of the sorrow and pain. He had told himself that he was living to a higher standard, setting an example for all of those he viewed as sinners in his congregation, to follow, if only they would. He dropped his gaze from Lucifer to the floor.
Lucifer dropped some coins on the table. Parson John noted, with disapproval, that it was more money than was needed to pay for the drink Lucifer had in front of him. Lucifer walked out the door. Parson John, with his cross clutched firmly in his hand, followed a safe distance behind. Immediately, the music and the hubbub of the tavern began again. He was thankful that it had stopped raining and the moon was playing hide and seek among the clouds.
“Let’s walk toward the old church yard,” Lucifer said convivially. “That’s near the rectory where you’re headed, is it not? There’s something I would like to share with you there. First, though, I’d like to straighten out something for you. In the tavern, you shouted that God hates me. This is an untrue myth. God loves me and I love God. He and I have a perfectly happy and sincere relationship. He assigned me, his most trusted archangel, to manage Hell, a most demanding job. I’m sorry that you hate me. You blame me for all of your desires that are natural and healthy”.
“You’d be amazed at the number of former religious leaders that I care for,” Lucifer continued. “Part of my job is to rehabilitate the souls of these sinners, among them; popes, cardinals and clergy who repressed sensuality and free thought, and branded as witches and heretics, those who were pursuing knowledge and healing, burning them at the stake and declaring the curiosity and intellect that God has instilled in all mortals to pursue knowledge as sinful. All this, so that they could preserve the unholy power that they have held over hapless humanity throughout the centuries. There are other sinners in Hell, to be sure, but I have been demonized by almost every religious organization on the face of the earth, with few exceptions, to protect their interests.” John walked a safe distance behind, continuing to hold his cross in front of him, though his arm was tiring.
“If that’s the case, why did God kick Adam and Eve out of the garden of Eden?” Parson John responded petulantly.
“He didn’t kick them out,” Lue replied. “They wanted to leave, since after receiving the ability to acquire knowledge which, by the way, is the ability to imagine, plan and create, and to understand the difference between good and evil, they were no longer content to live like the grazing animals of the fields.
“They wished to apply this new ability and reap the fruits of their own creative imagination and labor. In other words, pursue their own goals. God planned that this would happen, so he sent me to present them with that famous apple of knowledge.
“You were a snake,” John expostulated.
“No, I was not. I was as you see me now. You’ve also seen depictions of me with horns and a tail, along with other defamatory images. Those images were designed to frighten humanity into suppressing passion, intellect and creativity without question, and to follow the dictates of organized religion.”
Parson John was shocked to see that Lucifer was, now, taller and had doffed his earthly clothing and donned his heavenly raiment.
“Good show, Lue,” John said, “but I’m skeptical of all this reasonable knowledge stuff. How are you going to prove any of this, not that I’ll believe anything you say anyway.” This last statement contained a lot of bravado, for Parson John was beginning to see a glimmer of truth in what Lucifer was saying, though to admit it would be to admit that his life had been, up to that moment, lacking what God had actually intended.
They approached the church yard. As they walked through the gate Lucifer pointed to the gnarled and ancient apple tree that grew among the weathered and leaning gravestones. It stood starkly silhouetted against the white painted clapboard church in the moonlight.
“I’ll pick an apple for you,” Lue said. “It’s up to you whether you eat the fruit of knowledge or not.” John had eaten many apples from that tree, and though he often speculated about where the roots went that fed the tree among all of those stones, he had never imagined that that old tree could bear the fruit of knowledge.
He was immediately afraid that this was a sinful thought. There was only one tree that could bear that kind of fruit and that tree was in the Garden of Eden! His face heated up with embarrassment at this mental slip which he was sure God had seen.
Lucifer climbed up into the tree, talking to John as he climbed.
“The apple that I am looking for only grows on the uppermost branch, the highest up toward Heaven. It is the sweetest, most perfectly ripe apple that this tree can bear, John. You as a mortal would have to be brave to put yourself out on such a high and thin limb to reach that apple.”
Parson John wasn’t watching Lucifer. Galvanized by his embarrassment before God’s eyes, he was busy with his bottle of holy water, sprinkling a generous dose around the base of the tree. If Lucifer was the devil, and against God, this would keep him up the tree. He would taunt the devil. What a sermon this would make!
He imagined himself in front of all of those hapless sinners in his congregation that he’d seen in the tavern, the veins standing out in his forehead, his voice like thunder delivering warnings of eternal damnation for laughing, singing bawdy songs and spending their money on ale and merriment instead of dropping it in the offerings plate. He would tell them that he could see the flames of Hell already licking at their feet! The parishioners would tremble in their pews, unless, Heaven forbid, Lucifer was telling the truth. The terrible truth was, he realized then, just as Lucifer had stated, he was using fear to manipulate others to do his will and for his own benefit!
Climbing down from the tree without difficulty, Lue danced a jig.
“Oh, my, that holy water burns,” he shouted in mock pain. He waved his hands around as though they were on fire. Snatching Parson John’s bottle out of his hand, he put it to his lips and gulped a swallow of the remaining holy water. He poured a splash in the palm of one hand then splashed it on his face.
“Whew,” he said. “That’s the hair of the dog that bit me.” He held the bottle upside down to his tongue to catch the last drops. Parson John watched with his mouth agape.
“Either you are unable to talk God into blessing your holy water or I am telling you the truth, perhaps both. I must say that this was some of the most unholy holy water I have ever tasted,” he said, handing John the empty bottle. John fiddled with the string before hanging the empty bottle back around his neck.
“To show that I have no hard feelings, however, here it is: literally the fruit of knowledge, for if it were not for Adam and Eve receiving knowledge, this apple would never have been bred through generations of careful husbandry to become the sweet, juicy fruit that it is.”
Lue held out the apple in his right hand, the same that had held the bottle, for Parson John to take. In his left, was another which he held to his nose.
“What a refreshing fragrance. You know, a great part of taste is smell. It’s so sensual, like the scent of that woman that embarrassed you today when you felt those natural and actually holy desires. Have you ever stopped to think that all fruit, including the apples you eat are female?” When you eat an apple, you are eating the womb of the tree, holy like the womb that bore Jesus, as are all things, for God is everywhere, in the widow woman you scorned today, the members of your congregation in the tavern, the ale, even you. You might even preach sermons about God’s love, instead of frightening your parishioners to death with threats of hell fire and brimstone.
“You could actually get your hands dirty in the soil, once in a while. You’d be amazed at the satisfaction and happiness this can provide. You could even help out a few of your parishioners who need help with their gardening, like that widow you saw today.
Those musicians in the tavern that you have demonized in your sermons are providing comfort and joy. Music, whether joyful, sorrowful or soulful, is music in God’s ears. You, Parson John, are more likely to go to Hell than they are.”
Lucifer put the apple to his mouth. It popped with the sound that crisp, juicy apples make when bitten into. Lucifer vanished with the pop. Parson John found the apple that Lucifer had offered him, still in his hand. His first impulse was to drop it, but its near-perfect beauty caught and held his attention. It was so much like Lucifer had said; so beautiful, yet, John could see, still able to be improved upon. It was, indeed, the product of hard work, of cooperation between nature and mortals who were accustomed to suffer hardships and to experience the satisfaction and joy of accomplishment through their labor. This apple certainly did not come from the Garden of Eden unless this spot where he stood was that garden. Just possibly, the garden was everywhere but he had been unable to see that until now.
Parson John carried the apple into the church, knelt and crossed himself, then walked to the altar. Putting the apple on the altar, he knelt under the feet on the cross and prayed: “Forgive me Father, for I am about to taste this apple, whether it is the fruit of knowledge or just an apple, for I know that giving in to the temptation is the same in either case. If it is as Lucifer has said, then I hope you will bless me for my willingness to climb out on a limb to discover the truth. If it is as the Bible states, then I beg you to have mercy on me, for I aim to find out for myself.” His heart raced as he put his hand on the apple.
He sniffed the skin, as Lucifer had done. It did have a fragrance a little like the woman who had smiled at him earlier that day. Again, the rush that he had felt then. This time he did not suppress it. He opened his mouth, pushed in the apple and allowed his teeth to sink through the skin into the crisp flesh within. Again, that pop, exploding with sweet juice in his mouth, so like all of the other apples that he had eaten from that tree. It was he who was different, now, somehow liberated with a more complete perspective. He could see that the apple was, indeed, the result, or fruit of knowledge begetting labor, which, in turn, begat further knowledge and further labor and so on.
Suddenly, he realized that knowledge of good and evil is a necessary part of the development of character in all human beings. It was, in fact, his job and purpose to explain the difference to his congregation, without judging them. To prove that one could love and enjoy the pleasures of life and love God at the same time.
Parson John shouted with joy at the revelation he had received. He dashed to the fount of holy water at the entrance. He asked God to bless the water with such fervor that he was filled with tingling joy. Filling his bottle with shaking hands, he corked it as he dashed out of the church, running back down the path that had taken him past the tavern where he had met Lucifer.
Racing through the tavern door, he swung his uncorked bottle over his head, splattering holy water on all who were there; on the tables, the chairs, the ale taps, the glasses and the floor. “God Bless you all and everything,” he cried, “I’ll have a pint of your best!” He saw Lucifer as he sat down at a blessed table with his blessed pint of blessed ale in a blessed pub. Lue smiled and nodded as their eyes met.
Having lived a life of adventure and creative endeavors, including gold panning, boat building, commercial fishing, historical interpretation for the NPS, water color painting and now writing, Detlef lives with his wife on San Juan Island. At 86, he has many experiences to draw on.
His published stories are: “Mrs. Juhl”, Cut Leaf, 02/2024, Eastover Press, “Our First Night in the Country, 10/2023, “Ben Alone”, 05/2024. “Reflections on the Seasons”, all in Academy of the Heart and Mind, “That Which Cannot Br Defined”, Braided Way Magazine, “A Secret Too Well Kept”, Lost Treasure Magazine, now defunct.
Academy of the Heart And Mind 