The Coming of the Lord

Chapter 2

Chapter 2After leaving Rachel's house John walked to the main road and headed south, away from the city. He strode along the pavement passing some very substantial, red-sandstone villas until he reached a roundabout with roads going off in several directions. John noticed that one of the roads had shops on either side and, as he was looking for a bank to withdraw money from Rachel's account, he chose that route.

There was the usual mix of estate agents, charity shops, coffee shops and bistros which could be found in most suburban shopping areas, with a baker, fruit shop and a Tesco Metro thrown in for good measure. John quickly located the bank and, using Rachel's card and PIN number, withdrew three hundred pounds. He didn't dare try to take out any more money in case he drew attention to himself. As it was, John felt rather uncomfortable being the only black face in this wealthy area. He was sure there must be other black people living in the district, but he didn't see any. His Granny's cruel words came flooding back to him and he realised then why she didn't want him in her family.

With money in his pocket, he treated himself to a sausage roll from the baker's and wolfed it down, wiping the sticky crumbs from his mouth with his sleeve. Then he went to browse the charity shops, dropping Rachel's bank card in a post box as he passed by. He knew he couldn't risk using it again because the police could trace him by it. John reasoned, by posting it instead of throwing it in a bin, he was doing the right thing. It was the property of the bank after all and now it would be returned to them.

When he entered the first shop, which was run by OXFAM, he was aware of the staff staring at him. They spoke in whispers to each other, with hands held in front of their mouths, but John knew they were talking about him as they kept glancing his way. It made him feel very uncomfortable so he left the shop without having a proper look around. The next shop was a different story, it was empty, but for a large, pretty lady with a smiling face.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” she asked. “If you need a hand with sizes, or if you want to try on anything, just let me know.”

“Thank you, lady,” John said returning her smile shyly.

“I haven't seen you before,” she continued. “Are you new to the area?”

“I am a minister of God. I'm visiting churches.”

“Evangelical or Church of Scotland? The one up the hill or the one round the corner? I'm a member of the Church of Scotland myself, but I'm sure the Evangelical Church is nice too. My name's Libby, short for Elizabeth. What's your name?”

“I'm John,” he replied nervously. He wasn't sure how much to say to this lady, although she seemed friendly.

Libby watched John fingering the hangers on the rail holding gent's suits and jackets.

“There's a Hugo Boss in your size on that rail, I think,” she said. “It's a lovely suit, very well cut, previously owned by a bank manager. Would you like to try it on?”

“No thank you,” John replied. “I have to go now. I'm due at the church in five minutes. The Evangelical Church,” he stressed.

“Oh well, nice to meet you John, perhaps I'll see you again soon,” Libby replied.

John nodded and made for the door. “I don't think so lady,” he muttered under his breath. “I don't think so.”

John headed for the Church of Scotland he needed to pray and he wanted to feel embraced by the sanctity of the church. It was a beautiful building, set in tranquil gardens filled with pink blossoming cherry trees. What a lovely way to honour the Lord, John thought approvingly. He went to the front door and tried the handle, it was locked. This can't be right. A church is for the people. It can't be locked. He banged on the door, but nobody came to let him in. He could feel his temper rising.

“I am announcing the coming of Jesus let me enter my father's house,” he shouted at the door. Bang, bang, bang he thumped on the wood with all his might. It vibrated under the force. “Let me enter the Lord's house. Open these doors for me,” he demanded. Sweat broke out on his brow and his head began to ache. He had to get inside.

John walked round to the side of the church, surely there was another way in, he thought. He reached a small annex which was attached to the building. A sign identified it as the church warden's house. This is the home of the sinner who locked the church, he thought angrily, the man who denied me entrance to my father's house. John hammered on the door.

“Hold your horses,” a voice from within called. “I'm coming, I'm coming.”

The wooden door opened with a creak to reveal a short, balding man wearing a black suit.

“What can I do for you?” he asked. His face was bland and unsmiling.

“I want to get into the church to pray, but it's locked,” John replied.

“The church is always locked unless a service is taking place. We can't leave it open for just anyone to come in. Haven't you heard about the burglaries and the vandalism? They're rife you know.”

“But I am not a thief or a vandal. I am a man who wants to pray.”

“I'm sure that's the case, but you still can't come in. You'll have to come back when the service is on. Now, I'm sorry, but you must be on your way. I've got work to do.”

Mr Gordon, the church warden, hit the floor with a thud. He hadn't seen the punch coming. It hit him full in the face, breaking his nose and immediately rendering him unconscious.

“Now you will know the wrath of God,” John spat. “How dare you lock our Father's house? How dare you choose who enters and who does not?”

John stepped over his comatose victim and entered the house. Once inside, he dragged the man clear of the door and shut it. He searched the front room, tipping out drawers, ransacking it, until he found a set of keys. Then he left Mr Gordon lying on the cold, stone floor and made his way back round the pathway to the church entrance.

It took John only seconds to identify the correct key, unlock the large, timber door and step inside. Once there, he stared at his surroundings then looked up, open-mouthed, at the magnificent vaulted ceiling. The stained glass windows depicted biblical scenes, the wooden pews were highly polished and everything smelled very clean. John climbed the stairs and stood at the lectern. He became calmer. He liked the way his voice resonated, echoing around the building as he preached to his invisible congregation. When he'd finished his sermon, he walked down the aisle towards the front door, occasionally stopping to talk to the imaginary people who filled his church. Thanking them for attending his service, praying for their mortal souls and blessing their children.

When he left the building and stepped into the sunshine, he felt reborn and uplifted. My work is done here, he thought. It's time to leave this place and move on, time to spread the Lord's words somewhere else. John made his way back to the main road and stood at a bus stop. He decided he would get on the first bus heading towards the city and see where it led him. The Lord would guide him, he reasoned, he always had.