“What the hell is all this, Max?” The Forb tossed four or five glossy flyers on the table in front of me. One landed on top of my coffee cup. I removed it.
“What is it with you religious people and your PR departments? Explain this to me, please.”
The Forb considers me to be a religious kind of person, which apparently requires me to be held accountable for everything that is done in the name of God.
“It’s Easter service invitations, Forb. We all get these every year.”
He sat down across from me and leaned forward. “Look, Max. Out of respect for you I decided to actually read the part in the Bible that talks about this whole resurrection thing. And you know what?”
Forb stared at me and made eyes that suggested an oncoming revelation. I prepared myself. I realized that he was waiting for my response.
“No. What?”
“Those people who first discovered the empty tomb were so scared they almost soiled themselves. The guards passed out like Victorian maids and Jesus told everyone else to quit being afraid. The other guys blew off the story altogether at first—probably because they didn’t think women had any sense. This, my friend, was not about lilies and eggs and slick productions. This was about abject terror and skepticism.”
“Well, Christians are on the other side of the story, Forb. We don’t get to experience what those first people experienced, but we can celebrate what it all means.”
“I don’t think you people really know what it means. How can you know what resurrection is really about?”
I had to think about that one for a minute. I hate it when The Forb gets going like this, which is almost every time I see him. He’s like talking with a nail gun when he’s fired up. I looked across the café and saw Winnie sitting by herself. Forb saw her, too.
“Don’t start on her, Forb. That would be a big mistake.”
The Forb kept looking. “Yeah, probably so. She’s still mad at me, I think.”
“So go over and be nice to her.”
My friend The Forb is not big on mushy reconciliations, but deep down in his heart he’s quite fond of Winnie, even though he thinks she’s a little too “church lady” for his tastes.
“Be nice how?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe tell her that you’ve been reading the Bible. That might give her some comfort.”
He looked at her some more, and then started nodding his head. Without further comment, he got up and walked over to her table. When she looked up at him, she didn’t look very pleased with him. I could hear him speaking, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. Suddenly, Winnie’s face lit up, she bolted out of her chair, and threw her arms around The Forb. He remained rigid, and then finally unglued his hands from the side of his trousers and patted her gently on the back. Winnie sat back down and pulled a tissue out of her purse. Apparently she was crying.
The Forb walked back to my table and gathered up the cards he had assaulted me with earlier.
“I gotta go.”
He blew out the door and disappeared past the front window of the café.
I think Forb might be on to something. The first Easter was a bundle of crazy emotions and we sometimes celebrate in ways that are too slick to be believable. But watching that brief exchange between two people who want to love but are often isolated by doubt and fear brings me hope.
I guess I really do believe that Jesus is risen. I think I just saw him chase away some fear right here in the End of Time.
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