A Vision

February 18th, 20__(cont'd)

As I read the morning newspaper at the kitchen table, a haunting vision returned, the one inspired by the newspaper account of an embalmed woman who was raised from the dead. In my vision, I have been prematurely deposited underground, where my extensive fasting experience has left me vulnerable to continuing to live for forty days. As I often did when this frightening image recurred, I consoled myself with the thought that even though the confinement might lead to unbearable cramping, the experience itself contained incalculable prayer potential, and would be followed, of course, by my victorious entry into heaven. I had to confess that I had elevated this passing image to the status of a vision, when, in fact, it belonged more in the category of irrationality, having for its foundation intense fear.

Toxins Galore

February 18th, 20__(cont'd)

Most of the toxins had been flushed from my system yesterday, the expected course of events when fasting, the third day being the most uncomfortable, to the point of being painful. I hoped in retrospect that the toxins being expelled had not found their way into the tone of my Sunday message, an undesirable effect which, I hoped, had not propelled my words beyond harmless innocuousness and into the realm of the lamentable.

This morning a few aches and pains in my extremities remained. Their periodic protestations found consort with my neglected stomach, which echoed the hollowness one often encounters at this stage of deprivation, but I had the strength of heart not to surrender to such base demands. My caffeine headache had passed, for which I was grateful.

Sermon regrets

February 18th, 20__

My day off was punctuated by regrets for the aimlessness of my Sunday sermon, a message that for the most part sailed over the heads of my flock, ricocheted off the walls and returned to me fruitless. I blamed myself for my failure to connect, although my fast and the sacrifice it entailed were the real culprits, since sermon preparation under the influence of lack always rendered one’s brain scattered. I, of course, had forbidden myself to inform the congregation of the sacrifice I had undertaken for them and thereby explain the source of the paucity of my Sunday morning attempt, knowing that any disclosure of my abstinence, other than the necessity of Dear Heart’s knowing, would result in forfeiture of my reward in heaven, thus rendering my trial of no account. Such was the life of the lonely faster.

February 15th, 20__ (cont'd)

Noon hour was a trial, but I persevered, knowing victory lay at the end of my 21-day journey. Interrupting the lethargic ticking of the seconds, the fear of death charged in through its usual door, riding on hunger pangs, with futility at its heels.

The afternoon proceeded with its customary alacrity, but I was loath to accompany it. My secretary, M__, insisted by her frequent interruptions that I grace her with some input regarding Sunday’s bulletin. I stifled my true feelings on the subject, and, instead, assured her that nothing much had transpired this week, or was expected to next week, that warranted particular notice. I added that I was confident in her ability to ad lib, so to speak, any trivia she might deem necessary to fill the space. On her third interruption, followed again by my repeated sincere reply, she gave up, and left me to my deliberations and to what I hoped she perceived as my concentrated prayer effort, so that my spiritual dedication might be passed on to the faithful and eventually to the Board, who, of course, paid my salary.

February 15th, 20__ (cont'd)

I was disturbed in my church study this morning by a congregant who insisted he had an appointment. I doubted I would have made such an inopportune arrangement given the weakness of my fasting constitution and the simmering discontent I always experienced when staring into the fasting bleakness ahead. I informed middle-aged B__ that he was mistaken, but because my calling to be a constant shepherd overruled in all circumstances, I relented and granted him a few minutes to assail my pastoral ear. He informed me that God had told him he was to start a Prophetic School in the church and proposed announcing to the congregation they would meet every Tuesday evening for the purpose of growing in the prophetic. I reflected on the phenomenon often exhibited by some of the more sensitive Christians. They would surrender their all, take up their cross, seat Jesus on the throne of their lives and then reassert their wills by becoming ventriloquists, attributing to God their own view of things. I told B__ that I would pray about his proposal and hoped that God might speak to me to confirm the word from God he had received. He thanked me and said he knew I would be spoken to in much the same way he had. I did not feel led to confirm his opinion.

February 14th, 20__

Dear Heart regretted the slipping from my memory any thought of Valentine's Day. She was consoled by my insistence that we were so new to the church that any perceived deviance from conservative behavior on our part might be construed by the faithful to mean we were somehow lacking in the proper view of things. I added that it was the eve of my 21-day fast, and surfeiting was something I might best avoid, given its predictable effects on digestion. Upon later reflection my conscience concluded that my behavior toward my wife had not been manipulative, only prudent.

February 15, 20__

I awoke this morning to the smell of bacon and eggs and remembered they were not on my menu. The coffee had its usual seductive aroma, but my morning cup would be foregone also. I inquired of Dear Heart why she had made my favorite breakfast this morning, knowing, as she did, that my fast had just begun. She replied that she had forgotten.