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Crossing the Line
Still, Leonard seemed to be very belligerent towards me, in a false, condescending "I'm going to save you" way. One really revealing moment came when he inferred I was some kind of pagan because I wear the Celtic Cross. I took grave offense at that. Granted, the Celtic cross is not everyone's idea of the cross. Being caught in the Catholic/Episcopal crossfire all my life, I was told the Crucifix was better or the cross was better for a host of reasons, most of them political. I decided upon the Celtic Cross because whether it's my Nova Scotian Episcopal side or the Irish Catholic side, I am a Celt pure and simple, of a proud and often beleaguered people who were and still are one of the driving forces in Christianity. The Celtic cross is an ancient respected symbol of Christianity that combines the cross with the Ionia stone, an ancient Celtic symbol of a pure, rich life and etched with the characteristic snake pattern which represents eternal life. To me, there is no better example of how a pagan people adopted Christianity into their own belief system and embraced it so highly. It represents the Christian conversion of the Celtic world. At any rate, I let loose on Leonard. After all, who was he to judge which cross was more appropriate to worship God? The cross is a symbol of how Jesus died and how we interpret that is between the individual and God. The cross was not even Christian originally! It was a form of Roman execution! Who is to say Jesus would object to any of the differently decorated crosses and crucifixes there are in this world? From what I hear his wasn't too well decorated or pleasant! He might actually like the idea! And until God or Jesus come down here and tell us which cross, if any, is the right one, I will choose what I feel most comfortable with. And, further, I told Leonard, there is no place in the Bible that I can see that tells us which cross is the right one. Finally Leonard backed off and went back to his admirers to lick his wounds. After the initial tenseness faded away we were informed that the church service did not end there, but that the congregation was now headed for the mall and some other places to "spread the word." It seemed Bill and I were expected to go as well, but we'd had enough. Monica and the others were unwilling to let us go that easily, however. "Come along," they would say, "it will be fun." We informed them that we agreed to come for the service and that was all. We had things to do that day. Again they pressed us to come with them. After threatening to call a cab, Monica reluctantly agreed to take us home. Not surprisingly, Cathy went with the church group. I think after my cross outburst they were a little eager to get rid of me anyway. Cathy would later tell me I actually made it into one of their sermons the following week as an example of someone who was "too proud for his own salvation." or something to that effect. Go figure.
The Waiting Game
The day went on and Cathy did not come home until around midnight, and even then with Monica. Cathy was in tears and she immediately ran to our bedroom and began collecting her clothes. When I asked her what she thought she was doing she mumbled something to me about sacrifices and change in her life. She then told me she was moving out. I wanted to talk about it. Things were spiraling out of control and I wanted desperately to talk to her about things. She would have none of that and ran out as soon as her clothes were packed. I let her go since I seemed to be making things worse and I figured she'd have to be back for her furniture and other things sooner or later. The next couple of weeks were very tense for me. I spoke to her parents, and of course they hadn't heard anything from her. Her friends hadn't seen her. I was as if she had just disappeared. Trying her work number proved fruitless. All I got was an instant transfer to her voice mail. I must have left a dozen messages, but I never knew if she got them (I would later find out she had missed three days of work without calling in that week and got fired for it). Finally I just settled into my life as best I could. I left her mail on the table, boxed up her remaining possessions and just went on. I had originally planned on going to the Colorado River with a friend of mine who owns a boat, but I canceled on him because I just didn't feel like I�d be much company. Actually I wanted to just curl up and hibernate for a while and regain my energy and perspective on life. That weekend I had some of my friends over. We had been out for a long night of bar hopping and were at that burnout point where you are starting to sober up but have no energy whatsoever. We are all laying around in various stages of semi-consciousness, Beavis and Butthead are on the TV, there are beer bottles all over the table and no one is talking much. Then I hear the lock on the door begin to crank.
End Game
No one but myself and Cathy had the keys, so I knew who it was. No sooner had I peeled myself off the couch and spun around than I found myself staring at her face-to-face. Behind her was Monica, Leonard and another man and woman I recognized from the service. Cathy said nothing, but left for the bedroom while Monica explained to me they were here to move the rest of her things out. I had no patience for this woman, so I just ignored her and went after Cathy. This was the first time I'd seen her in two weeks and I wasn't going to let it slip past without saying something to her. Then Leonard steps in front of me and tells me not to talk to her. That pretty well sunk it for me. I was not going to be told what to do in my own apartment! As the adrenaline rushed to my head I told Leonard that he had two seconds to remove himself from my path or he�d be quoting Bible passages from the intensive care ward. The situation escalated when Leonard's "brother" intervened and then my friends got in on things. It could have turned ugly, but Leonard proved that he at least had some common sense because he backed off and "allowed" Cathy to talk to me. There really wasn't much to talk about as it turned out, other than she felt it was time to get closer to God and move on. In this case, I suppose she meant move on from me. Nothing I said seemed to make any difference, but I was able to get her to sign off on the lease, which was some small consolation since I didn't want to be stuck paying for a two-bedroom apartment all by myself. After that, there wasn't much left to be said. We just waited quietly while they moved her stuff out to an old van one of them had brought along. I was late (apparently I was not the first stop on their little moving day) and they were in a hurry to get out of there. It didn�t take long. I had already boxed up most of Cathy's stuff and every time they came to the TV or something else we owned jointly, they just passed it over and let me keep it (there was no room in the van for it anyway). Then they all filed out. Cathy left her keys on the table and just walked out, right past me without saying a word or even looking at me. The ICOC had her totally now, and there was nothing I could do. The next day I went about finding a new place. I had a hard time staying in an apartment that had so many bad memories. In time, I got on with my social life and somehow never allowed my problems to interfere with my work. It was quite some time before I saw Cathy again. In fact, if it weren't for a coincidence at the mall we may never have met again. She looked really bad, a victim of the ICOC's constant pressure and stress. For over a year she put up with it and even though she'd been out for a while she still had many problems trying to put her life together. We've talked a lot since then, and some of the things I have found out about the ICOC were really burned into my memory. With Cathy's permission, I have listed them here. Facts that include but are not limited to: The fact that those "sharp" people in the ICOC aren't actually that sharp. They may appear that way on the outside, but try taking the conversation with them outside of the 2% of the Bible they are taught to preach or beyond the preprogrammed answers they are given and see what you get. The whitewash really falls off. The fact that the ICOC conceals and actually promotes selfish behavior. Roommates are organized with one person who has more possessions than the others he or she is living with. "Brothers" or "Sisters" who have a car are housed with up to three or more roommates that don't, for example. While the car owner pays all the gas, insurance and upkeep, the roommates get free use of it as a de-facto taxi. The same often goes for clothing, furniture, or anything else the ICOC may find useful. Everything is community property, though the person who owns the goods is still stuck paying for it and therefore supports the others and often as not the people who destroy or damage the property are never held accountable for their actions. In this way too, the ICOC is the ultimate user. The fact that the ICOC's love and support is really only skin deep. The threat of all this love being taken away to keep the congregation in line is well documented, but there is the less subtle method in which love and "belonging" are extremely effective weapons. Behind the scenes there are many who are all too eager to be a tattle tale or snitch to make good with those above them. They will turn in anyone who they feel is "sinning" which has a pretty broad definition in the ICOC. Usually "sinning" is anything the leaders do not approve of, whether it is religious in nature or not. This is not to say that the ICOC is entirely made up of such unscrupulous characters, but even a small number of snitches can wreak all kinds of havoc on a congregation that is already self-conscious to begin with. The fact that the ICOC keeps its people on a short, three-pronged leash. The first leash is the promise of love, friends and acceptance which can be taken away totally on the mere whim of those in power. The second being the social isolation, wherein "brothers" and "sisters" are systematically coerced away from all family and friends not in the ICOC. This creates a total dependence on the ICOC, making it much harder to leave and all the easier to just give in to get all that "love" back. The final, and far more practical method is the financial drain the ICOC's constant tithing brings about. Without money, members have little control over their ability to buy a car, move out of a crowded apartment, or (in short) have control over their lives.
*Mike Smith
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