The Congregation

A Story by Casper Cross

How does a church fish fry sound? To most it sounds delicious, until you learn who is on the menu

“Fish Fry Tonight!!! We catch ‘em, God cleans ‘em!”

It was one of those light up rode signs. The ones with the arrow on top, with yellow or white bulbs blinking in succession from the end of the arrow to the front. The black printed letters that made up the message were clear plastic inserts that slidinto grooves along the front facing of the sign.

Uncle Leroy, behind the wheel of his cherry red Toyota Tacoma pickup, turned to his nephew. “Billy, how does a fish fry sound?” He asked the sixteen year old.

Billy rolled his eyes. “Uncle Leroy, I don’t need you to take me to church. All right? I did a stupid thing and I already promised my momma that I would never do it again.”

The “stupid thing” Billy referred to was the near death bludgeoning of some poor bully at school. The bigger boy probably had it coming, but Billy’s high school had a zero tolerance policy for violence.

Billy already had two strikes on his record. The first came when the principal caught him and a couple of his buddies spray painting the side of the school. Billy never actually spray painted anything, just watched, but when his friends discovered the principal’s ambulation towards their general vicinity, they skedaddled out of there quicker than a hiccup leaving Billy alone to take the fall for the crime. He spent all of one Saturday repainting the wall and got three days suspension for it.

The second strike came when Billy verbally assaulted one of his teachers, a “Mr. Pecker” the kids liked to call him. His real name was Mr. Richards, but he earned the nickname because he was a grade A a*****e.

Mr. Pecker was a diehard socialist liberal, not the “I would vote for a yellow dog before I would vote for a Republican type liberal,” but the radicalized militant who wanted to lead a revolution to overthrow capitalism.

He blamed America for every problem in the world. Global warming, rampant war and famine, terrorism, genocides in Darfur and the Congo. All a result of American consumption.

He terrorized Billy because his father served in the United States Marine Corps and lost his life when his Chinook helicopter was shot out of the sky by a shoulder fired RPG from a Taliban fighter hidden among the trees on a mountain side.

When Billy returned to his school following his father’s funeral service, Mr. Pecker said something about how all servicemen in America deserved to die, and his beady eyes turned and found Billy. Feeling his anger rising, Billy tried to leave the classroom but Mr. Pecker refused.

“You think just cause the world considers your dead daddy a hero that you can get up in the middle of one of my lectures when you feel like it? Get this straight in your head now, your father is nothing more than a baby killer and he deserved to die.”

Grabbing Mr. Pecker by the lapel of his tweed sports coat, Billy drove him to the floor He wanted to punch him, and maybe would have had a couple of his classmates not pulled him off the middle aged teacher. He got another three day suspension for the incident, but the principal also suspended Mr. Pecker for the rest of the school year as well.

Billy was able to survive the first two incidents, but not this last one. His mother no longer thought her home a suitable place for her teenage son. He needed a father figure in his life, and asked his father’s brother, Uncle Leroy, if he would mind taking the boy in for the rest of the summer. Leroy lived on a farm in middle Tennessee, and a summer spent milking cows and bailing hay might allow Billy to work out some of his aggression.

“I’m not telling you that you need to go to church, Billy.” Uncle Leroy explained as he took the next turn to the left and headed back in the opposite direction, back towards the church. “But church picnics always have good eatin’.”

Billy loved his Uncle Leroy. He was a couple years older than Billy’s father, but his down home country accent was about enough to convince him that alcoholism might be a suitable answer to a perplexing quandary. How was he going to survive the next ninety days listening to this middle Tennessee hayseed without going plum loco?

The Toyota truck slid into the turning lane, and after four or five cars passed and the way cleared, Uncle Leroy spun the wheel to the left and hit the gas. The truck spat across the highway and onto the gravel drive.

There was no actual church building, just a large white tent, stained yellow with age and backed up against the river. There were a couple of travel trailers and some picnic tables set up around a fire pit where an aproned cook served up heaping platters of fried catfish.

Uncle Leroy guided the Tacoma to a parking space, slapped the gear into park, and snapped off the engine.

“I don’t know about this, Uncle Leroy.” Billy said. It was the people. They didn’t seem like the same kind of church folk he was used to back home. They moved around in what appeared to be a doped stuppor. Brain-washed sheep, is the name Billy immediately associated with them.

“Don’t be such a city snob.” Uncle Leroy said, reading his nephew’s expression. “You know as well as I do that country people are not the same as city folk, but that don’t mean they ain’t good people.”

Billy knew his Uncle was right, but still, as he opened the door, something inside him screamed…

“GET BACK! GET BACK IN THE TRUCK AND LEAVE NOW!!!”

He directed his eyes at his Uncle who was already beyond the engine compartment. Uncle Leroy turned back and gave an assuring nod and that threw cold water on his unease. Billy climbed down from the cabin and pushed the door closed behind him.

This was no pretentious bunch. Most of the men wore blue jean bib overalls, t-shirts, cut off jean shorts and shoes with no branding, if they wore shoes. Shirts were also optional apparently, as Billy saw more than one old man sans shirt, gray chested and silver backed grizzly bears, with thick beards clinging to bits of battered fish and driblets of sweet tea.

“Hi ya friend.” Said the aproned man at the helm of a large black kettle raging over a large roaring fire. The oil inside bubbled and churned and tendrils of steam rose from the center of the boiling cauldron. “Name’s Deacon Pepper.” He wiped a greasy hand across the bib of his apron and put it out. Uncle Leroy was the first to take it. Billy accepted the offered hand but not without some hesitation or lack of conviction. “What brings you out this fine evenin’?”

“We saw the road sign on the way home and thought a fish fry sounded really good after a long days’ worth of driving.”

“Where y’all all coming from?”

“Memphis.” Uncle Leroy answered. “This is my nephew Billy. He’s coming to help out on the farm a little this summer, so we are on our way back east.”

Deacon put a strong hand on Billy’s shoulder, saying, “Seeds that fall on good soil produce grain a hundredfold. Now, that’s scripture.”

“Yessir.” Billy nodded.

“Have you accepted Christ as your personal Lord and Savior son?”

Billy wasn’t sure how to answer. He stood looking at Deacon who stared back at him with small black eyes and a wiry beard that was as full as a cat’s tail.

Uncle Leroy, stepped in the middle of the conversation to provide the answer that seemed to elude his nephew’s recollection. “We are both church goers, Mr. Pepper.”

“Salvation is of the Lord, not of the flesh.” Deacon said and as he did so he turned his head to the left, so that he could cut his glance at the teenager.

“I’m saved.” Billy answered, more than a little perturbed by the question.

This answer sent a smile sprawling across Deacon Pepper’s face. “Hallelujah!” Deacon pressed his hands together, and bowed his head in prayer. “Thank you Lord for bringing us your children.”

Deacon grabbed a paper plate and fetched a large spoon. He withdrew some of the battered fish from the cauldron and set it on a plate. One for Billy and a second plate for Uncle Leroy. “You will always find a place at our table, my brothers in Christ. Please follow me.”

He led them to a long wooden picnic table and showed them a spot as if he had it specially marked for them. “Rest and weariness belong to the Lord, my brothers. Sit and be at one with the family of Christ.”

Billy and Uncle Leroy shared a look. Both now began to think that a fast food burger didn’t sound so bad after all.

Deacon Pepper withdrew from the table and returned his apron to the hook of a limb, uniquely placed for the purpose. He returned to the family table and standing at its head, he lifted up his arms and raised his eyes to the sky. The others gathered around the table, bowed their heads in supplication, and folded their hands in front of them. Billy and Uncle Leroy put their own hands together and closed their eyes.

“And Jesus,” Began Deacon. “Took this bread and said this is my body. It is given freely to you, take of it and eat. Do so in remembrance of me. And all God’s children said.”

In unison the others answered,"Amen!"

“Amen.” Deacon repeated and sat down to a fork, a plate, and a napkin that went onto his lap.

As Billy took up his fork and plunged it into the brown crusted fish, he looked up to see a group of girls crossing in front of his field of vision. One of them, a girl about his age turned in his direction and smiled.

She was pretty, with long straight blonde hair and legs so long Billy thought they could be a stairway to heaven. He smiled back. She turned and kept walking and did not look back, Billy returned his attention to his plate of fried fish. Lifting a forked morsel towards his mouth he caught a glimpse of Deacon staring at him. He popped the fish into his mouth, smiled and while still chewing, he said, “Delicious!” It was delicious. He’d had catfish fried a thousand times, but he never tasted anything quite like this.

Deacon put down his fork and dabbed at the corners of his mouth. “Would you like to fornicate with her son?”

Billy blinked, not sure if he heard him correctly. He turned to his Uncle Leroy who was too busy plowing forkfuls of fish into his mouth to have heard the stunning question. “I’m… I’m sorry?” He stuttered.

“You heard me boy. I asked you a very simple question. Do you want to fornicate with that girl?”

“I don’t think that is any of your business.” Billy felt the temperature in his neck creep up into his ears.

Uncle Leroy looked up from his meal with the look of a man who caught a movie half way through but thought he could catch up.

“Everything that goes on at this table is my business son.”

Billy patiently placed his napkin over his plate and stood to leave.

“No one dismissed you.” Deacon Pepper said looking up at the boy.

Billy cocked his head towards his left shoulder. “I have never in my life struck a preacher man before, but mister you are trying my patience.”

“I think you need to sit down son.”

“Now see here.” Leroy finally stood to defend his nephew. “No one talks to him that way.”

Men, strong barrel chested men, emerged from the wooded area around the picnic table and with strong hands pinned the visitors to their chairs.

“The wages of sin is death.” Deacon Pepper rose from his chair. He circled the picnic table using the opportunity to share with the congregation a word from God delivered to his heart from on high. “Very truly I tell you.” He said, his hands caressing the heads of each member seated around the table. “If you fail to eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink of his blood there is no life in you. Whosoever eats of my flesh and drinks of my blood has eternal life, for I will raise them up in the last days of the earth. For my flesh is real flesh and my blood is real drink. Whoever comes and eats my flesh and drinks my blood, I will dwell in them forever. The living God sent me and I live because of the Father, so the one who feeds on me will live because of me for this is the bread that came down from heaven. Your ancestors they ate manna and died but whoever feeds on the bread I offer, will live forever.” Taking Uncle Leroy, by a fist full of hair he pulled back his head elongating the throat. The jugular vein pulsed and bulged beneath the flesh. From the sheath at his back, Deacon withdrew a long silver bladed filet knife, the afternoon light glinting off the blade as it dove down into the soft skin of Leroy’s exposed throat. Blood poured out from the wound, spraying across the table and dousing all of those in his vicinity.

The other members of the congregation, bathed in a crimson wash, smeared the blood across their faces, their eyes closed as their voices sang in unison, a song of praise.

Have you been to Jesus for his cleansing power

Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?

Are you fully trusting in his grace this hour?

Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?

While singing the hymn, Deacon Pepper withdrew the knife from the wound and blood pooled and spread across and down Uncle Leroy's white cotton t-shirt. Deacon threw up the knife a second time and rammed it into the large vein a second time. More crimson liquid sprayed across the table. There was a gurgling deep down in Leroy's throat as his lungs filled with blood, and his eyes bulged from their sockets.

A third time the knife came up and came down and the gurgling stopped and the eyes closed. Deacon sliced out a large chunk of the throat and held it high above him, beads of blood dripping from the dangling morself of flesh, tendon, and muscle.

More singing rose up from the congregation, louder this time.

Lay aside the garments that are stained with sin,

And be washed in the blood of the Lamb;

There’s a fountain flowing for the soul unclean,

Oh! Be Washed in the blood of the Lamb.

The singing turned to humming as Deacon took the dripping morsel to the boiling kettle, dipped the piece of fileted meat into the batter and threw it into the bubbling oil.

Billy looked down at his own plate and shoved aside the napkin. Taking up one of the golden brown fillets, he pulled it apart to find charred brown meat where the color white should have greeted him. He felt the urge to vomit and regurgitated all over the ground, heaving so hard that he collapsed to his hands and knees.

The heavy handed guards lifted him from the ground, tears streaming down his face as he stared at Deacon Pepper while he stirred the piece of human flesh until it wore the same crisp golden brown coating as all the others. When done he spooned it out and added it to the others.

“You son of a b***h! I’m going to kill you! I’m going to F*****G KILL YOU!” He made an attempt to get at Deacon, but the hands of the guards held him firm.

“If the eye deceives, you must pluck it out. If the tongue offends…” Deacon stepped over with one long stride and with his thumb and forefinger plucked Billy’s tongue from between his lips, and with a single swipe of the blade severed the organ from the primary body.

Billy screamed in agony, as a stabbing sensation filled his mouth with a hot pain as intense as red flames. Blood pooled and he spat it out. Deacon dangled the severed tongue in front of Billy’s face. “Now that’s scripture.” He said and drove the knife into Billy’s throat.